


The Tales That Dead Men Tell

by quicksylver28



Series: Draco Prince - CSI [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF witches, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Established Relationship, Exile, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Exile, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksylver28/pseuds/quicksylver28
Summary: Sequel to A Washing Away of Wrongs and picks up right were that one left off. RT April 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really had a lot of fun writing this. I didn't finish under deadline but am trying my best to finish this quickly.

 

 

Excerpt from A Washing Away of Wrongs.

_He toppled to his side right after, breathing harshly and trying not to vomit as his vision swam violently._

_"Shit" he groaned and reached for his phone._

_"Siri. Call Milli." he slurred, pressing a palm to his aching forehead._

_Pain exploded behind his eyes at the motion and he panted through clenched teeth so as not to pass the fuck out. He could hear Milli's voice calling his name and gritted out "Parking level 4. Embankment." before the phone fell from his limp fingers._

_The last thing he knew before it all went dark was the crack of apparition._

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Millicent stomped down the stairs at New Scotland Yard, the sound of her smart heels echoing through the enclosed space. She took extra care to stomp heavily on each tread, working out her frustrations. Usually she would rely on a good game of racquetball at the local YWCA with some friends or a round or two in the ring at the mixed martial arts centre to work out her restless energy. And if she was still feeling all revved up, she’d call up one of her casuals for a romp between the sheets.

For now though, she’d satisfy herself with forgoing a convenient elevator ride for the stairs; working out her ire with the resolution of the Hibbert Case. From the moment there’d been even a suspicion of magical line theft, she’d known that the muggle side of the case would never be solved to satisfaction. She knew that CS Davies was hopping mad as well, having received curt instruction straight from the Buckingham Palace itself to let the matter die. No questions asked. Case closed.

Her own report to the DMLE would be sorely lacking and definitely not up to her usual standards. The DoM had swooped in along with the Aurors and absconded with the suspect as well as all of the evidence.  The Ministry had wasted no time in seizing all of the man’s properties and holdings ‘as part of the ongoing investigation’.

She huffed, shoving her gloved hands into the pockets of her deep purple coat. Yeah right, that was just ministry slang for ‘grabbing everything not nailed down to fill the coffers. Surely the goblins had already sunk their claws into the line theft ritual Hibbert had created with his insane genius.

At least she could be assuaged with the knowledge that the mad man had paid a heavy price for his unnatural distortion of magic. All he had to look forward too was a short and uncomfortable life of in the ravenous hands of the Department of Mysteries. She could almost feel pity the poor bugger. Almost.

She’d just stepped on to the second floor landing when her phone rang and she dug around in her voluminous pocket for the vibrating device, frowning as she checked the screen. It was Draco. Probably calling to bitch some more about the case. He’d been just as frustrated as Davies, only he’d kept his ire better than the Chief Superintendent. No doubt he’d be at Rasputin tonight, leaving his emotions on the dance floor. She’d have to give Blaise a heads up. She swiped the screen with her thumb and brought it to her ear with a smirk.

“Dra…”

"Parking level 4. Embankment."

The cadence of his voice froze Millicent in her spot, her grip tightening on the phone’s rubber case. She was moving before he’d even finished speaking, her coat flapping around her legs as she raced down the stairs; calling his name. Her heart hammered in her chest as she ran, jumping the last few steps of each flight to shave time. She was panting by the time the door to level four parking came into sight, innocuous with it cracked yellow paint and scuffed silver handle. She quickly braced herself against the wall, pressing her back against the concrete as if doing so would make her rebellious lungs draw in oxygen easier.

She drew her wand, glaring at the door hotly as if it would suddenly turn transparent. Panic burned like acid in her veins. She’d never heard Draco sound like that. The Slytherin in him would have never allowed for such an open expression of pain. Not even the death of his parents and his consequent exile had let him show such emotion to anyone but Blaise. Whatever caused the strain in his voice was a cause for serious concern.

She blinked, then swore. _Merlin’s hairy ass crack, Bulstrode. You’re a trained war witch. Use your fucking magic, you nit._

She quickly cast a _mufflulato_ spell at the door and at her shoes, with a disillusionment over her entire body. A quick and powerful notice-me-not was cast at the door and she was ready. The door mechanism was silent as she opened it and eased through, closing behind her with no more than a whisper. The parking lot was brightly lit and filled with cars of employees still hard at work upstairs. She ducked behind one of the cars and surveyed the area. She spotted the edge of Draco’s convertible but there were too many large pillars in her line of sight to see hide nor hair of the blond.

She did a quick point me with her wand, making her way forward cautiously; eyes and ears peeled for anything suspicious. There was a good chance that the Unsub could have stuck around the area, ready to pounce on whomsoever came upon the scene. She paused, wand gripped tightly in her hand and facing down. There’d been a sound up ahead, the swish of a cloak, the soft hush of leather soles against concrete. She took a breath and rounded the last pillar, leaning out just enough to take a quick reconnoiter.

The sight of Draco’s prone form made her blood boil. He looked like a ragdoll, limbs splayed across the cold, unforgiving floor. His face was turned away but his blond hair was bright in the harsh florescence. His work satchel had fallen open, spilling it contents around him as if they were victims themselves. It painted a picture in her imagination of violence and it was only the absence of blood spilled that kept her rage from taking over. Someone had perpetrated an assault against one of her dearest friends and for that she would seek them out and return the favour threefold.

There was a figure leaning over the fallen blond, the dark cloak enveloping the figure from head to toe.  There was the briefest glimpse of polished wood in a gloved hand, light blue sparks already leaping along the tip. Millicent snarled silently, raising her wand as she stepped out from behind cover.

“ _Petrificus Totalus. Locomotor Mortis. Expelliarmus. Incarcerous. Protego Protego Protego._ ” Rapid spells flashed from her wand, hitting the unsub and flinging them away from the prone man. The last three were cast over Draco as she ran to stand between him and the figure who was struggling against the rope bindings she’d conjured. Their wand had been blasted away, rolling underneath a nearby car but even wandless, the figure was still fighting against her spells. Fighting and almost succeeding.

She stepped closer. “ _Gravis Corpus. Haereat corpori. Altum somnum_.”

Her wand flashed, pulsing warm in her hand as she got into the grove of rapid casting. She dared not take her eye from the cloaked figure, not even to check on Draco. It made no sense to check on the man now while his assailant was still unsecured.

Gold magic sparked from the prone figure with a loud crack, shattering her spells frightfully easily. Her mind raced, her brain quickly carding through her repertoire of spells as she gathered her magic. She needed a distraction, and quickly.

“ _Pituita Vespertilio_ ” she screamed, the force of the spell knocking the figure back with a pained oomph, sending them skidding a few feet across the smooth concrete.

There was a disgusting sucking sound as the figure flailed helplessly, their hands clutching at their face. They screamed, curling in on themselves as globules of murky goo pulled from their nostrils to float in the air. The slimy blobs squelched their way into the shapes of cartoon bat which immediately started to dive bomb their victim, wet little squeaks coming from their flabby little bodies.

The figure, with an anguished cry, palmed an amulet around their neck; and with a golden flash that left Millicent blinking stars from her eyes; the bats turned to dry crust, falling and cracking apart on the floor.

“Merlin dammit, did you actually cast a fucking Bat Boogie hex at me?” The figure growled out, flipping the dark hood down to reveal a wild mane of vibrant red hair. “What the actual fuck, Bultstrode?”

Millicent gaped for a hot second. “Bill Weasley?”

 

\----------------- To be continued -------------------------

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.LOL. No. April fool’s. There’s more.  ...

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She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here Weasley? State your business.”

The redhead wizard gingerly sat up, running his gloved hand through his hair before gasping as he touched his nose. He gave her a flat look.  “What does it look like I was doing?”

She returned his flat look with a glare and the raising of her wand. “It looked like you were standing over a prone victim of attack with your wand at the ready. So… I say again. State. Your. Business.”

He looked at her for a moment, then at Draco before turning back to her. He took in the cold flinty look in her eyes and the confident grip on her wand. He sighed and bowed his head in capitulation.

“Gringotts sent me. One of their protective wards had been activated. Immediate response was required. They sent me in because it wass a muggle area. As it was, Shadowskull himself would have responded if it was wizarding space.”

He looked a bit awed at the very thought of that happening and Millicent tucked that fact away, mostly to see what the blond would think of it when he awoke. _And he would wake_ , she reminded herself sternly. _He would_. She flicked her wand at the redhead to get him talking again.

“I was handed a potrkey that would take me to the nearest point. It brought me straight here, I appeared behind those cars over there.”  He pointed at the shadowed spot but Millicent didn’t turn to see. She gave him a withering look.

“Stop wibbling Gryffindor.  Get to the fucking point.”

“Goblin warded coins are serious magic. Gifted only to those deemed Huukek Dhek … Goblin Friend.”  He frowned at her, then grew serious. “Only a serious intent to harm would have made it react as it did.” He pointed his chin to the large gold coin loosely grasped in Draco’s slack hand. “That thing may as well have saved his life.”

Millicent took a careful step back and to the side so that she could see both the redhead and her friend. Indeed, there was a large goblin made coin in his hand, red markings matching the coin bruising his pale skin. Her heart skipped a beat at the wizard’s words. Someone had tried to hurt Draco, had tried to harm him with intent. Some fucking son of a whore had tried to use magic on a magical exile. Draco was so vulnerable to magic, unable to use any to protect himself or escape.

A low snarl escaped from her clenched teeth, deep and rumbling in the open space of the lot. Weasley startled, staring at her in shock. She ignored him, concentrating to calming herself before she really lost control. She kept her nailed from hardening and turning black. Kept her teeth from sharpening and curving into fangs. Kept her skin from crystalizing into thick hide.

Turns out that the vicious rumors back at Hogwarts had been half right.  She did have a bit of something else in her blood.

But that wasn’t needed now. For now, she needed her human brain and quick thinking.

She cut a look at the Weasley. He was smart enough to stay seated, his hands where she could see them.

“You swear on your magic that you didn’t come here to harm him?”

He blanched, shaking his head. “My employee contract doesn’t allow me to do that but I can swear on this.”

He carefully readhead into his cloak and pulled out an employee’s badge. It was a thin plaque of burnished gold with the Gringott's seal and magical moving image of the man’s face which was also frowning. Millicent examined the badge carefully before nodding. “Do it.”

Weasley made the oath, breathing out as the badge glowed then faded. Satisfied, she let him get up and retrieve his own wand. Under her watchful eye, he cast a diagnosis charm. Thank Merlin, Draco seemed to just be unconscious.

“He needs a healer.” Weasley said, staring at the coin still in Draco’s hand. “His core shows sign of damage. He’ll need rest and a potions regiment at least."

"I’ll take care of it.” Millicent nodded, tucking her wand away and pulling out her phone. “You should get out of here.”

“What are you doing?” He looked around then back at her as she scrolled through her contacts.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She gave him a dry look “I’m calling the police.”

He blinked at her stupidly. “Why? What can they do?”

Millicent inhaled sharply, irritated. “What do you think I should be doing? Summoning the Knight Bus? Apperating him to St. Mungo’s? You do remember that he’s a magical exile? This has to be handled the muggle way.”

The redhead flushed, nodding his understanding before turning to apparate away. He paused. “The second round of spells. _Gravis Corpus. Haereat Corpori. Altum Somnum_. I’ve never heard of those. They teach you those at Hogwarts?”

Millie quirked her lips at one corner. “The first is the counter to Levicorpus. It fell out of use because if used without intense focus, the body’s mass would increase too much and cause injury. The other two are a household sticking charm and a sleeping hex for unruly children. Just with extra power.”

He stared at her for a moment, his gaze going from baffled to impressed as he sharpened his gaze. He gave her a sharp nod before turning on his heel and was gone with a muffled crack.

Millie sighed, kneeling next to Draco as she made the call.

“Davies” the gruff voice came on the line.

“It’s Bulstrode. “I have a 10-24 Officer Needs Assistance. Parking Level 4.”  “Millicent took a breath. “It’s Prince Sir, he was attacked by a magical.”

Davies was silent for a moment before growling out. “What do you need?”

“I need an ambulance to take him to the hospital and a forensic team down here ASAP. I’ll also need you to sequester all the camera footage on this level. We need to know what’s on those tapes before they can be used as evidence.”

She listened as he barked orders out of his office door, sending people scrambling into action and felt the last of her panic drain away. She looked down at her friend and protector at school. He looked so vulnerable, his usually smooth brown furrowed in pain even now.

He’d always had her back at Hogwarts, even beyond as she struggled to pursue her dreams to be recognized as a capable and powerful witch and a confident and desirable woman besides. He’d always been there for his Slytherins, even after his exile. Her personal dragon protector.

“Don’t worry Dray…” she whispered softly as the sound of sirens wailed in the distance. “This time, I’ll be the one to protect you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CI- Criminal Investigation  
> CS - Chief Superintendent   
> DMLE - Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
> DoM - Department of Mysteries  
> ICW - International Confederation of Wizards
> 
> +++++++++++++++++++++++

Millicent hung up the phone and tucked it into her pocket with a frown. The CI team had already been through documenting the scene back at Scotland Yard with Inspector Donavan in charge of the investigation. He was a good man, trusted by CS Davies, competent, professional and ‘in the know’ about the magical world. Word had spread fast and the whole of the Yard was up in arms about the assault. For one of their own to be attacked right under their nose, someone as well respected as Draco to boot, seemed like the highest disrespect to the service.

She’d already given a statement, sitting in the hospital waiting room as Doctors as swarmed around her friend. The sergeant had been professional and compassionate, taking concise notes and asking pointed, relevant questions. Her name was Collins and she had deftly taken charge of the situation in a whirlwind of competency, organizing a security detail for Draco’s room as well as wrangling hospital security to secure the perimeter and take care of any nosy reporters.

Millicent was grateful. It gave her time to work through her own worry and panic. And to make some phone calls. The first was to Blaise, who’d been dancing the night away in the middle of Club Rasputin. The second was to her own division office above the George and Dragon Pub. One of her baby officers would send a report via owl to Croaker at the DoM. Granted, there wasn’t much that the wizard could or even would do about the situation but Millicent wanted to inform him nonetheless.

Draco’s exile status meant that the British magical community had no jurisdiction over him nor could they come to his aid in any way. Still, he’d just come off of helping out on a huge joint case by special contract with the Unspeakables and to be attacked magically so soon after the wrap up was sending up red flags. She’d also sent a missive to the ICW, informing them of the magical assault on the exiled Prince heir.

Merlin, this had the potential to be one hell of a political fuck up. Both in the UK and Internationally

She looked down the hall to where the doctors were conferring near the nurses’ station. They’d arranged several muggle brain scans on the blond and had, thankfully, ruled out brain damage. She’d even managed to get two expert squib healers to come in and confer on the matter. Granted, she’d had to fly the two men in via emergency helicopter from the squib hospital, Santa Brigita’s Hospital for the Magically Adjacent, but CS Davies had signed off on the request.

Doctors Thompson and Merigold had swooped in and taken over in a cloud of competency and charisma. The blonde and smiling Thompson balanced out the scowling dark haired Merigold and they’d soon had the entire night shift at the hospital wrapped around their fingers. They’d set Draco up in a private room and had assured Millicent that Draco was no longer in critical danger but had transitioned into natural sleep. They would only be able to tell if any complications manifested when the blond finally woke. They had him hooked up to an IV of pain killers and saline to keep him hydrated and it had turned into a waiting game. Millicent didn't really mind it as she was British and they were old hat at waiting in queue.

She’d slipped the odd goblin coin under his hospital pillow, tied around with a medic alert bracelet charmed with a powerful notice me not. Lessons at Hogwarts had taught her that Goblin warded gold was a nightmare to charm so she’d worked around the issue. The little plastic bracelet would ensure that no one touch the coin as well.

That fucking coin. The thing had saved Draco’s life. That was what Bill Weasley had said. Millicent hadn’t yet heard the story from the blond about his visit to the Mighty Goblin Horde, given the fine temper he’d been in that day after the cock up with Unspeakable Crow. He’d been too angry to speak and she hadn’t wanted to press him further. Draco Prince, formerly Malfoy, always did things when he was good and ready, especially share confidences or feelings.

She’d been startled to see the redhead there, doubly so when he’d absently confessed that one of the goblin warriors themselves would have come if the space had been a wizarding one. Shadowskull, son of Ragnok, was known among certain circles as a very shrewd and dangerous character. The fact that Draco had been named Goblin Friend both intrigued and terrified her. Merlin, the man had only been down in the cavernous home of the horde for less than a day. What the bloody hell had he been up to in those few short hours.

Morgana’s tits, that man lived to frustrate a witch.

Still, being Goblin friend was a two edged sword. The Goblins had a totally different perspective on pretty much everything. To them, ‘aide’ could range from guarding your back against the enemy or slitting your throat if they thought you couldn’t go on and deserved a ‘Warrior’s End.’ She couldn’t fathom what would have occurred if Shadow skull himself had appeared over Draco’s prone body.

That brought her back to the scene at the parking lot. Sadly, the footage of the attack and her subsequent arrival was unusable. Someone or something had nudges all of the cameras slightly off centre which had created a large blind spot. That worried her. For the unsub to have accomplished that, they would have had to possess a working knowledge of muggle technology, especially security cameras. She’d shared this thought with CS Davies and he’d not been pleased.

A form at her side brought her from her deep thoughts and she looked up to see Sergeant Collins with a takeaway cup of hot tea. “I had one of the squaddies go out and get us some proper hot drinks. Thought you could use one. Better than anything they have in this place. And I even tried the sludge in the Doctor’s lounge.”

Millicent nodded her thanks, taking the cup and sipping at the beverage. It was hot, dark and strong; just the way she preferred it. She cut a narrow eyed glance back at the Sergeant but the woman was already turned away, talking to one of the guards in front of Draco’s door. She’d never met the Sergeant before but she’d had enough tea in her visits to Scotland Yard for the woman to have known how she took it.

She brushed the thought aside for now and stared at the closed door of Draco’s private room. The two officers standing guard looked alert and at the ready, which did much to calm her nerves. It helped that she’d also warded the door surreptitiously against anyone with ill-intent. Nothing too complex, she hadn’t wanted to mess with the delicate muggle equipment.

She let herself have one sigh and sipped at her tea. All they could do now was wait.

“You’d better wake up soon blondie…” she growled under her breath, turning the cup round and round in her hands. “…so we can find whoever did this and kick their fucking arse.”

………………………………………………………………………………

The little red numbers on the muggle lift seemed to crawl, the scuffed metal walls gleaming dully as the pulleys above it cranked and creaked. Blaise huffed in impatience, tapping her six inch glitter heels anxiously as she glared at the slowly rising digits. She’d apparated straight from Rasputin, popping up at a secluded spot around the corner and hustling into the hospital, still in her sequined mini-dress and fluffy red coat.

The nurse at the front desk had almost gotten hexed stupid before the police officer stationed there had stepped in. A short radio conversation later and she was being cleared to head up to the fourth floor where Millicent was waiting. Merlin, her heart had stopped in her chest when she’d gotten the call. Draco had been attacked. Magically. Fuck.

It had been one of her deepest fears for the past ten years. Draco’s status as an exile was supposed to protect him from being targeted, be it by a witch or wizard with some kind of grudge against the former Malfoy heir or some psycho who got their rocks off on torturing someone who couldn’t fight back. Goddess knew that there were many of them out there.

They’d worked hard to protect from that. Blaise, her mother- the Lady Zabini, Millicent, their team of ruthless lawyers and Lightning Magus Sylviené Malfoy-Richelieu from the International Confederation of Wizards had worked tirelessly for the better part of a year to set up enough political and magical deterrents so that no magical in their right mind would try to touch the vulnerable blond. Being the new heir to the entire, magically and historically powerful Prince Family fortune also helped a lot in keeping Draco protected.

She growled under her breath, willing the numbers to go faster. She dared not try to use magic on the thing. Draco had warned her vehemently about interfering with certain muggle technology, citing in graphic detail no less than three horror stories from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department. After she’d been sufficiently cowed, he’d shared a couple more of times when muggle tech and magic came together for some truly outrageous and amazing results.

That was her Dragon, warning her with the brutal truth then impishly telling her how to circumvent it right after.

Thankfully the elevator dinged and the heavy doors trundled open. She pulled her fluffy coat closer to her body, searching the hall way with a shrewd gaze and ignoring the overt stares sent her way by hospital staff. She spotted a uniformed officer at the end on the hall and strode towards them, her dark curls bouncing as her long legs ate up the distance.

The officer was a woman, smartly kitted out, who greeted Blaise by name, surprising her. She quickly introduced herself as Sargeant Collins and directed Blaise towards the waiting area where a woman in purple sat at the edge of her seat, tapping at her phone.  
“Millie” Blaise gasped out as she rushed to hug the other woman.

Millicent grudgingly accepted the hug, knowing full well that nothing would stop Blaise from overt displays of affection when she was worried. They remained pressed together for few peaceful seconds before Blaise pulled away and braced Millicent’s shoulders, her long red nails bright against the dark purple coat.

“How is he?” the brunette motioned them both to sit on the stiff couch, shrugging out of her fluffy coat to reveal a form fitting red glitter cocktail dress “What do we know?”  
………………………………………………………………………………………

Consciousness came to him in stages, completely different from his usual smooth upswing. At first there was muffled sounds, voices rising and falling in the distance. He couldn’t make out the words or even distinguish one hazy voice from another. Eventually he just gave up and slipped away again.

Next he woke up to pain, as if someone was trying to scoop out his brain with a red hot poker through his nose. I thought is said not to put me down for mummification, he tried to say but he was sure that he’d made some kind of moaning, gurgling sound instead. Thankfully, he couldn’t care less as his head hurt too bloody much to give a rat fuck. The anomalous blob hovering above him did something that made the pain fade away and he’d sighed in relief and let slip his tenuous grip on wakefulness.

The third time he’d felt muggy and stuffed with cotton, his limbs heavy and hard to move. He felt waterlogged, as if he were deep under water; trying to make his way to the surface. His fingers twitched. His eyelids fluttered. A moan stuttered in his chest. He inhaled deeply and got a nose full of honeysuckle. He managed to open his eyes to slits, grateful that the room’s lights had been dimmed. He blinked, squirming against the sheets, and looked down to get a face full of brunette curls.

“Circe’s tears, Zabini…” He sputtered weakly. “You trying to smother me to death?”

Blaise, who’d been tucked along Draco’s side in his hospital bed; whipped her head up to stare at him in surprise.

“Dragon? You’re awake. Thank Merlin.” She threw herself at him, giving him a careful yet enthusiastic hug before rolling off the bed. Forgoing her heels, she’d been half way to the door before turning back and rushing back to the bed and pressing a desperate kiss to his mouth. “Glad to see you well, Darling. Life would be such a bore without you.”

Then she was out of the door in a flash of glitter and dark curls. Draco looked after her in tired bemusement before glancing around the room. He was in a hospital, a muggle one; he recognized that much. He wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here, his mind was a bit too fuzzy. He was not physically injured. There was no blood or wound that he could see. He glance up at the IV and determined that he was on pain meds and saline.

A commotion came from the door and he looked up to see Millicent swanning in, a look of open concern on her face. She was followed by a pair of doctors, one blond and smiling; one dark haired and stern. A male nurse followed along with a female officer. He recognized her as Sergeant Collins from Scotland Yard and stared dumbly as she nodded at him with a small smile and tucked herself into the corner of the room. The doctors and nurse swarmed around him, asking questions and poking at the muggle medical equipment quickly and efficiently.

They introduced themselves as Thompson and Merigold and the Nurse was Timothy. Draco let himself be examined, answering the odd questions patiently and carefully. He was still in the dark as to why he was in the hospital but he knew that Milli and Zazi wouldn’t let him remain ignorant for long.

He glanced over their white clad shoulders to where Millicent and Blaise stood. He gave his friends a weak grin, though his eyes were sharp and wary. “What’s with the long faces? You’d think that I’d just been told that I had two months left to live.”

He paused and glanced tensely at the taciturn Merigold. “I haven’t, have I?”

“No.” The Doctor snapped before going back to his examination. The blond helpfully piped up. “No, my good man. Physically, you’re as strong as an ox. You have a long life ahead of you. Barring unexpected injury or accidental death, of course”

Draco stared at the blond for a few moments, trying to figure out if he was just being facetious or not, before turning back to his friends. Milli stepped up to his bedside, Blaise wasting no time hopping up unto the foot of the bed and curling her long legs under her. She still looked stunning in her slept in dress and make up, her bed head wild and framing her face. Milli looked impeccable in her chic suit and coat, her hair wrapped up into a quick but neat bun.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked bluntly.

He could see Collins perking out of the corner of his eye and sent his friend a questioning look. Millicent flashed a glance at the officer before quirking an eyebrow. Draco hid a nod by fussing with his covers. His details would have to stay strictly muggle until they could get the place warded.

“It’s a bit blurry still. I remember being at Scotland Yard. I had a meeting with you and Davies.” He furrowed his brow, picking at a snarl in the thin blanket. “After that, everything comes and goes in flashes.”

Millicent then explained the phone call she’d received and how she’d come across his prone form in the parking garage. To say that the blond was surprised was an understatement. He didn’t even remember making the call, or apparently falling to the ground. Trying to push his brain to remember more details made pain spike through the back of his skull and he gasped, grabbing at his forehead. That prompted the Doctors to cluck around him worriedly, fiddling with his IV and ushering most everyone out of the room.

He was finally left alone with Millicent, who’d had a staring match with Merigold over her staying that had gone on forever until Thompson had finally had enough and pulled the darker man out of the room. Finally alone and in trusted company, Draco let his slytherin mask of calm fall away. He fell back against the pillow with a look of worry.

“What the fuck happened to me Mills?” He ran a trembling hand though his loose platinum blonde hair.

She reached a hand towards him and he slipped his fingers into hers, squeezing them briefly before letting their clasped hands rest on his lap. He was grateful for the silent show of support. He’d lost so much of the person he was since the exile and was so very grateful for the ties he still had from that life. Milli and Blaise had been his rock and touch stone in the years since and had helped him so much in gaining acceptance and even happiness in his new circumstances.

Millicent repeated her story, this time including the confrontation with Bill Weasley and his admission that he’d been sent by Gringott’s. She retrieved the coin from under his pillow and he turned in over and over in his hands, thinking hard as the burnished gold glimmered in the harsh hospital light.

He was still thinking deeply when Doctor Thompson slipped back into the room. His usual smile was gone as he approached. He quietly asked if Draco was willing to let Millicent witness the results of their diagnosis and Draco nodded. He asked for Blaise to be there too and soon enough, she was tucking herself into Draco’s side on the bed and hugging him around the shoulders.

“You were hit with an Obliviate. An extremely powerful one.” Thompson reported solemnly to the silent room. He shook his head in disgust at the very idea, regarding his clipboard and then the gold coin in Draco’s limp fingers. “If not for that powerful artifact in your hands, I’d estimate that you would have been fucking ret-conned back to infancy. Bloody Horrifying that.”

Draco’s mind went blank, all thoughts having fled. The only things registering were the quickness of Blaise breath in his ear and the tight hold she has around his shoulders. Milli’s hand is back in his, squeezing tight as they all digested the knowledge. Thompson calmly explained that only time would tell how deeply the after effects of the spell would affect Draco’s mind, as they’d never seen anything quite like it before. He then slipped from the room, leaving it in heavy silence.

“Fuck Dray.” Blaise breathed against his neck, her arms squeezing him tight enough to become painful. “Just… Fuck.”

Millicent nodded in silent agreement, her hand squeezing his hand over and over as they sat on the bed together. Her thoughts raced as she glanced up sharply at the lost looking blond. A large part of what had kept the blond strong all these years was his faith in his own sense of self. He'd been a Malfoy and after the exile, he'd been a Prince but through it all he'd always, always been Draco.

For someone to have targeted that part of him was more blood curdling than an attack on his body or even his magic. Someone had wanted to kill Draco in one of the cruelest ways imaginable, leaving him nothing but a babe in nappies trapped in a man's body. To destroy his memories, his quick mind, his love and friendships; to take from him his parents, his godfather and his time at Hogwarts. Merlin, it made her want to throw up.

She swallowed bile and took a deep breath, looking up at her two closest compatriots. Both Blaise and Draco looked lost in the horrors of their own imaginations and she absolutely loathed that look on both their faces. She reached over and shook Blaise’s leg, snagging their attention.

“Snap out of it you two.” She hissed. “We’re fucking Slytherins, dammit. We don’t sit around feeling sorry for ourselves like those damn Gryffindors. We get up, get our shit together and find whoever’s behind this and flay them alive until they fucking beg for death.”  
She gazed deeply at one then the other. “And then we make sure that none of the evidence is ever traced back to us. That. Is. How. Slytherins. Fucking. Do.”

Draco inhaled sharply and nodded, some colour returning to his pale cheeks. “Bloody right, Mills. Nobody fucks with me and gets away with it. Not when I was a Malfoy and definitely not while I’m a Prince.”

“That’s right dearest. A bit of scorched earth is in order. Snake house style.” Blaise purred with a sly smile as she ran gently fingers through Draco’s hair. She turned dark and devious eyes to Millicent. “What’s first Milli dear? You always were the best at payback.”

“First, we find out exactly how much Draco remembers of last night. See how far the spell really got before the goblin wards absorbed it” Millicent sat back a bit before quirking her lip. “Then we go and royally fuck up someone’s shit.”

Twin grins filled with wicked retribution and excitement was the only response.


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you mean we can’t do anything about this? I want whoever raised a wand to my piccolo drago nailed to the great doors of Wizengamot by their testicoli [balls].” Lady Viviana Amaranta Fiametta Zabini was a force to be reckoned with, especially when her infamous Italian temper was raised. Her grey eyes flashed as she paced, her navy robes swirling around her ankles as she made another circuit around the ornate sitting room. “Che un mucchio di merda assoluta!” [What a pile of absolute shit]

She spun to face the two other women seated at the small tea table. “Can’t the ICW step in? Those ficanaso [busybodies] love to wade into ministry business and throw their weight around. Where are they now? Eh? Dirmi questo [Tell me this].”

Millicent took a sip of tea, keeping her eyes glued the ornate rim of her cup. The slytherin in her knew full well when to sit and be quiet. She wasn’t stupid. This was an argument way above her weight class. 

The other witch in the room didn’t have the same problem. She just rolled her eyes at the pacing and agitated brunette, tossing her pale blonde hair over the shoulder of her ivory bespoke smart suit.

“Calm your tits, Vivi.” Lightning Mage Sylviane Malfoy-Richelieu gave a put upon sigh and set her tea cup and saucer aside. “Eat a biscuit. Merde. You know that you get especially hot tempered when you don’t get enough sugar... or sex. You should work on getting yourself laid and fast. Knowing you, there’s already husband number eight within the cross hairs.”

Millicent choked back a snicker, snorting somewhat ungracefully as she buried her nose in her almost empty tea cup out of sheer self-preservation. She averted her eyes, giving herself the busy work of pouring another half cup and made a show of carefully picking over the petite pastries on the gilded silver stand.

Both women were powerful witches who’d become close friends during the years after Draco’s exile. Both women possessed stunning beauty, strong personalities, quick and clever minds as well as matching ruthless streaks a mile wide that left weaker men strewn, broken, in their wake. These women were who Millicent Bulstrode wanted to be when she grew up.

Viviana spun on her heel, pinning the blonde with a scathing glare. She opened her mouth, no doubt ready to spit a scorching rejoinder, but then snapped it shut, stomping over to the chaise lounge and perching herself on its edge with a huff.  
Even in a smoldering rage, she was too much of a lady to throw herself unto the plush upholstery. She snatched the cup that Millicent meekly held out, pouting as she took a healthy sip.  
“Vai a farti fottere, lo scarafaggio bianco“ [go fuck yourself, you white cockroach] She finally grumbled under her breath, biting savagely into a scone. “Besides, all the men now are fucking pigs. Not worth the cock anymore, honestly.“ 

Millicent wheezed, her eyes tearing up as she tried to keep a straight face, her tea cup clinking noisily against the saucer in the silence that followed. Thankfully, Sylviane didn't seem to take offense at the vulgar language, only nodding in shared sympathy as sparks of lightning sparked along her manicured fingertips and over the fine filigree of the tea cup. The blonde lounged back lazily, crossing her long legs at the knee and taking another slow sip.

“I quite understand, chéri. France has also seen a decline in the quality of skilled lovers in the last few decades. So much for Paris being ze capitale de l'amour. All they want to do now is rut in my pussy then roll over and light up the cannabis. Déplorable. That's why I became a lesbian a few years back. At least they know where to find the clitoris.’’

‘’Stop distracting me, woman. What are we going to do about Draco ? Whoever did this must be made an example of so that no one else gets the brilliant idea that attacking a magical exile is something they can get away with unscathed.” Viviana huffed and set her tea aside. “I want it so that even thinking of coming for mio figlio d'oro [my golden son] makes them shit their robes in fear of what we will do to them, cani senza spine! [the gutless dogs]."

Sylviane frowned and twirled her booted ankle as she thought deeply. “It took us years of difficult political maneuvering to get him the protection she has now. Back then we had the novelty and infamy of him being both an exile and the sole Prince heir but it’s been ten years, Vivi. Wizards have selective memories. Especially with someone whose vast estate they cannot tax or seize. There is still a lot of bitterness on the ministry’s part.”

She placed her empty cup on the table next to the others. “Even with you as his magical proxy and voice at Wizengamot, as long as he stays on British soil he is still vulnerable. Even if he stays completely in the muggle world, that won’t soon change.”

Viviana gave a gusty sigh. “That boy. He won’t even hear about emigrating even though there are so many countries offering sanctuary. Merda, even if he took dual-citizenship, we could do something with that.”

The blonde tutted. “Merlin knows France would welcome him with open arms. Both the Malfoy and the Richelieu Family magics runs strong and deep and would anchor his severed core easily. But he won’t even hear of it.”

“Such a stubborn little dragon.” The brunette shook her head. “I’d miss him terribly if he left England but I can’t begin to fathom what makes him want to stay here where he’s been abused so severely.”

“His roots are here.” Millicent confessed softly, “He has a hard time explaining it but Britain’s his home. He was born here, went to school here. Even after his magical exile, he’s made a good life for himself here. I think that for him to leave, even if it’s just to accept dual citizenship, it would mean that they’d won.”

She looked up at the other two women. “The Ministry, the public… everyone who wanted him to get the kiss, even the very core of the magical United Kingdom itself that seemed to all but abandon him. To leave after all of this would be like letting the last of himself die.”

“il mio povero bambino.” [My poor baby] Viviana cupped her hand over her mouth, her eyes shining. “My heart aches for him.”

“Draco is no baby. He is a grown man with all of his mind and faculties.” Sylviane exhaled sharply. “But... in the end, it’s his decision and we must work with what we have. With the Ministry turning a blind eye to the entire situation and the ICW unable to step in without solid proof of who the culprit is, our hands are tied legally.”

“Well, what about illegally? Draco’s memory of the attack is still spotty but he’s been recalling more and more as time passes. Once we get enough information, what’s to stop us from exacting our own brand of retribution? “Millicent tapped a finger to her chin, a guileless look on her face. 

“The Ministry won’t be able to step in and the neither will the ICW, not without proper cause anyway. It is most likely that the case will never be solved completely by the muggle police either. We can use the same restrictions against them that they seek to use against us. There is more than one way to skin the proverbial cat.”

Sylviane nodded in agreement, a sly smile creeping across her face. “I knew there was a reason i liked you, Millicent. We will make a patronne sorcière [boss witch] of you yet, young lady.’’

Millicent blushed pink as the Zabini Matriarch toasted her agreement.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In the upstairs guest bedroom that had been all but declared as Draco’s, he and Blaise were wrapped up together on the large canopy bed; his head pillowed on her amazing chest. His arms were wrapped around her as she ran her fingers lazily through his blond hair. He concentrated on her steady breathing, letting her heartbeat sooth the headache that he’d been nursing since being released from the hospital.

He’d been sleeping most of the day, small fractured memories of the night of his attack returning in sharp spikes of pain. Both Doctors Thompson and Merigold had agreed that his convalescence would best be served at home, in this case being Zabini Manor. Blaise had happily set up camp in his bed, keeping him from falling into the depression of boredom.

Draco’s mind was not made for idle contemplation and his inability to do anything too mentally arduous, by strict doctor’s orders, and this long period of bed rest would have driven him mad if his best friend hadn't been there to keep him entertained.

“So what do you think they’re talking about down there?” Blaise mused idly, scratching softly at the blond’s scalp. “Planning a low key coup of the ministry no doubt.”

Draco huffed a soft laugh into her breast. “Most assuredly. Woe unto anyone who seek to cross the Witches Three. Forget the Weird Sisters from Hamlet. Your mum, Sylvie and Milli together make them look like the Good Fairies from Sleeping Beauty.”

“I’m a bit behind on my muggle studies to I’m not sure who Sleeping Beauty is but I get the gist.” Blaise chuckled. “Those are some bad bitches. I’m totally a fan.”

“You and me both, Zazi.”

The brunette gave a soft sigh and blinked up at the ornate canopy, her mind racing despite her calm appearance. The situation was more serious that either of them were willing to openly discuss. Draco was the survivor of a deliberate magical attack. Someone had cast a powerful memory charm on him, intending severe harm.

They’d wanted to erase his entire life, essentially destroying everything that made Draco a person. They’d basically tried to murder him without killing his body. It was like a Dementor’s kiss. All that was her best friend would have been lost forever, leaving behind an empty shell.

Just thinking about it made her want to scream and cry and whip out her wand, a savage curse on her lips. It was only the oddest luck and the protection of a goblin warded coin that had saved him from a tragic fate. As it was, his body would have been discovered sprawled on the cold concrete of the parking structure, suffocated to death because he’d forgotten how to even breathe. They may have never known how he’d died.

She sniffled softly, her arms tightening around the blonde until he grunted and squirmed.

“I’m fine, Zazi.” He reassured her yet again. “I’m here. I’m safe.”  
He pulled her closer, letting her bury her face in his soft blond hair. He said nothing as she continued to sniffle softly, her silent tears making his scalp and the pillow beneath them both damp. He knew that they were all so angry and upset on his behalf and it warmed his black heart to see such an overt show of love from the usually reserved Slytherins, or in Sylviene’s case at Beaubaxtons, Ombrelune.

Strangely, his own volcanic emotions and infamous Malfoy temper were nowhere to be seen. A taciturn Doctor Merigold had sat down with him before discharging him from the hospital and had discussed the possibility of his own emotions being suppressed by his own mind. It was a self-defense mechanism often employed by a traumatized mind and magical core. Draco was already healing from brutal curse magic and his mind could not deal with his emotional trauma at the same time.

Eventually, when he was recovered enough, he would have to watch out for wild mood swings and irrational anger. He’d already made appointments to see the Mind healer at Santa Brigita’s and the woman would floo directly to Zabini Manor for the appointments. Thompson and Merigold had no problem in ignoring Ministry statute regarding magical exiles. In fact, the Squib Hospital was already walking a fine line between worlds anyway and had special jurisdiction both at a national and international level.

Also, Doctors Thompson and Merigold happily gave no fucks about anyone else but their patients and enjoyed telling the Ministry of Magic to gladly fuck off.

Draco wasn't looking forward to that day, he hated dealing with emotions; especially his own. But, he was the fucking Ice Prince of Slytherin and his parent’s son so he’d face it all the grace and confidence of a Malfoy. He wouldn't crack, wouldn't show weakness unless it was to his closest friends. He’d just cock Narcissa’s unimpressed brow and twist his lip in Lucius’s indifferent derision.

He’d clawed his way up from darkness time and time again in his life. He’d pulled himself up from a place of fear, betrayal, anger, depression, disillusion and loneliness and built a good life for himself. He’d won against all the mother fuckers who’d tried to rip him down and destroy him. Draco Malfoy had been a force to reckon with in his youth and Draco Prince was even more so.

He wasn't about to let anyone get the better of him now. Not when he had a good life with a passion for his work and a family who loved him. No fucking way. He’d be damned if he let some jumped up bitch take away everything he’d built for himself. Fucking Granger.

He startled, blinking rapidly as he pushed himself upright. Blaise sat up as well, looking at him in concern as she gently cupped his cheek. “Dray? What’s wrong? Have you remembered something?”

He nodded jerkily, his mind still buzzing from the memories spiking painfully though his brain. He faintly heard Blaise’s voice shout out and the popping sound of a house elf appearing. Moments later he felt Lady Malfoy-Richelieu’s cool hand on his forehead.

“Draco. Cher. Breathe through the pain. Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through the mouth. Come on.”

He relaxed against her palm, slowing his breathing and riding out the pain. Blaise was braced against his back while Millicent and Lady Zabini were at his sides. Their presence was a welcome comfort and he sagged within their grip. When his head stopped throbbing and he could order his thoughts, he looked up into the blonde woman’s concerned gaze.

“It was Granger. Granger did it.”

“Hermione Granger?” Millicent sat back, shocked. “Potter’s gal Friday? She’s never shown any malice toward you, despite Potter and Weasley’s rantings. She’s just some low level ministry grunt who couldn’t get passed the old boy’s club. Why would she even attack you?“

“What do you mean low level grunt, Mills?” Draco made a confused face at her. “Granger’s a bloody Unspeakable. She goes by Crow.”

“What?” Millicent blinked, shock evident in her face. “Crow is Granger? I don’t…”

Draco rested a hand on her shoulder. “You introduced me to her Mills. Right in your office in London. She’s the one who approached me to work on the case. She’s the one who organized the whole thing with the temporary contract.”

“Shit.” Blaise breathed out, her breath hot on his neck.

“Shit is right.” Lady Malfoy-Rochelieu agreed, standing straight and crossing her arms across her chest. “This changes almost everything.”

They all sat in silence as they process this new piece of information, all deep in their own thoughts.

“That Bitch!” Millicent exclaimed into the quiet, growling as her nails grew black and shredded the bedding below her. “She made me forget. That bloody cunt made me forget as well.” 

She looked up at them, her teeth sharpening as her eyes bled black. “I’ll kill her. I’ll rip the bloody slag to pieces. As an Unspeakable she knew bloody well what she was doing when she attacked Draco. She even took muggle counter-measures so that there would be no evidence. Fuck.”

“No, death is too good for her.” Blaise hissed softly, her arms hugging Draco’s waist tightly. “A quick death anyway. She needs to suffer first.”

“I agree.” Lady Zabini nodded. “A swift and merciful death has never been the Zabini way. My late husbands could attest to that. Well, if they were able to speak from beyond the veil that is.”

The blonde witch next to her cocked a curious eyebrow. “Don’t you mean the beyond the grave?”

Blaise chuckled husky and low, sending a shiver down Draco’s spine. “The Department of Ministries is not the only place where the wall between worlds in thinned. We just like them to think that they are.”

Both Millicent and Lady Malfoy- Richelieu blinked surprise, their mouths falling open in a comical mirror of each other. Draco laughed darkly at the sight, relaxing into Blaise’s embrace and Lady Zabini chuckled along with him.

“I love all of you crazy bitches you know that?” he sighed happily and grinned at them all. “I fucking love you so much it hurts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all my female characters. these ladies are so fucking BAMF. no wonder Draco loves them so much.
> 
> Lady Zabini looks like a young Sophia Loren and Lady Sylviene looks like Cate Blanchett


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's here! YAY Neville!

Neville skin was warm under Draco’s cheek and he smelled so fucking good, sweet and smoky with some woodsy notes. There were also hints of fresh dirt and growing things as if Neville had flooed straight from his garden. The blonde pressed his nose against the base of the other man’s neck and sighed, taking comfort in the broad chest pressed against his and the tattooed arms that held him a bit too tight.

He could hear the other man’s racing heart against his own and ran a comforting hand through the brunet’s short cropped hair, sighing softly as Neville tightened his hold with a faint sniffle.

“You going to let me go any time soon, Longbottom?” he chuckled against a white henley covered shoulder. “We’ve been standing here long enough that Lady Zabini is going to start thinking about marriage contracts.”

“Shut up and let me hug you, you git.” Neville’s chest rumbled as he huffed, shifting on his feet but still not letting go. “I’ve been sequestered with my Gran and Uncle Algie at the manor for the past few days and didn’t even get Bulstrode’s message on my machine until you’d been out of the hospital for two fucking days. Forgive me for being a mite clingy, ok?”

There was affine tremble to the taller man, a barely restrained emotions that seemed to be thrumming through Neville’s broad frame. Draco pulled back slightly, not trying to break free from the hold but far enough so that he could look into his lover’s eyes. He braced his hands against the brunet’s cheeks and jaw, taking a moment to appreciate his pale skin against Neville’s sun kissed tan. 

His brown eyes were bright with affection mixed with fear and anger. His usually smiling mouth tight and turned down. Draco let his weak mage sight seep into his eyes, taking in the colours swirling violently in Neville’s aura. Whatever the man was feeling, he was keeping a tight lid on it.

Draco felt such a surge of affection for the former Gryffindor that, without a second thought, he went up on his toes and claimed that stern mouth in a kiss. He hummed, parting his lips and surrendering to Neville’s hungry, almost desperately questing tongue. He sighed into the kiss, hands fisting in the thin wool and wrinkling the material.

When they finally parted, Draco swayed a bit as he breathed in deeply.   
“Wow” he giggled, surprised at himself. His cheeks flushed as he looked at Neville, seeing the other man finally grinning in return. 

Thoroughly pleased with himself that he’d managed to loosen the tension in the brunet’s frame, he pecked him on the corner of his smile and gently stepped away. This time, instead of tightening, Neville’s arms loosened and fell to his sides.

They made their way over the small loveseat in Draco’s room, set up with a tea set popped in by the Zabini house elf, Mufty. It was laden with Draco’s favourites, as had all his meals since coming back from hospital. It was Mufty’s way of showing her affection for the blond, other than hugging his head and weeping into his hair that first night back.

Feeling too raw to keep up his Ice Prince façade and realizing that Neville also needed physical comfort after a scare like this, he tucked himself against the taller man’s side and pressed his nose against the crook of his lover’s neck; breathing deeply as arms came up to pull him closer.

“Bulstrode told me what happened.” Neville said softly, his face in Draco’s platinum blond hair. “I’d always imagined meeting your friends and family under better circumstances, maybe dressed in proper robes and smelling a bit less I’d just been playing in dirt. First impressions and all that.”

Draco grinned into his chest, “Oh, Merlin. The unholy tribunal. I’d been meaning to warn you about them.”

Milli, Blaise and Mama Zabini had been having little secret meetings, gossiping about them both. Little did they know that Draco had a little spy in Mufty, who’d been happily keeping him abreast of all their machinations. 

Neville gave a gusty sigh. “I certainly didn’t expect to meet the important people in your life, tumbling out of a belching floo, covered in dirt and soot, half terrified out of my mind that you’d been attacked. Thank Merlin Lady Zabini took me in hand and calmed me down. I must have drunk at least three cups of tea that I’m sure was laced with calming draught.”

He laughed along with the blond, adjusting his grip and settling back against the plush seat back. “So between drinking a barrel of Oolong and the combined weight of stares from both Zabini’s, Bulstrode and the frikkin’ Lightning Magus of Marseille, my arse was glued to that seat even though all I wanted to do was tear through the house to find you. All the while shedding dirt, soot and grass clippings all over the pristine upholstery of La Vedova Nera herself and the only woman to hex Dumbledore’s beard with doxies and get away with it.”

Draco was laughing so hard he was crying by the time Neville was done with his rant, gasping for breath as he wiped at his eyes with an embroidered napkin and sagged against the brunet’s broad chest.

“Goddess, I’m sorry I missed that. Maybe I can get Blaise to put the memory in a pensieve for me. I could watch it over and over and laugh every time.”

Neville mock scowled as the blond chuckled against him, valiantly trying to hide that fact that he was still freaking the fuck out. Bulstrode’s message on his machine at the cottage had been curt and lacking in any kind of information. All Neville had known was that Draco’s had been hurt and had been taken to hospital. His heart had leapt into his throat and stayed there as he’d called the number she’d left. 

Something inside of his chest had twisted when she’d bluntly informed him that the message was in fact several days old and that the blond was currently recovering at the Zabini residence. He’d grabbed some floo powder and had run to the fireplace, with little thought to grab anything but his wand. 

After Lady Zabini had forced the laced tea down his throat, his mind had cleared enough from the haze of panic for him to sit calmly as Bulstrode had laid out what had happened. As she’d spoken, his famous Gryffindor temper had bloated and burned in his chest, pressing against his ribs and making him want to scream.

Someone had attacked Draco. Someone had tried to use magic to harm his lover and the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He hadn’t told the blond that though, it was way too soon in a relationship to talk of forever. 

Besides, he’d seen the skittishness in Draco’s eyes, he knew of the doubts and reservations the blond no doubt would feel for a time to come. But, as he’d sworn to himself before, he was willing to wait. As look as it took, he would wait. Draco was worth it.

Still, the fact that someone had tried to erase Draco’s mind, to take away the very essence of the man. To leave him an empty husk, unable to care for himself or even recognize the people he loved. Just like Neville’s parents had been almost his whole life before they finally passed away. 

The very thought of it repulsed and enraged him, making him want to vomit and set the world on fire at the same time. He’d only just found Draco again, finally getting a chance to take the blond he’d had a crush on since Hogwarts in his arms and hold him, kiss him, make love to him. 

Draco had come through so much, the final battle of Hogwarts, the death of his parents, the trial and consequent exile. He’d suffered so much pain and had still come through it all with his brilliant intellect and acerbic wit. And for someone to try to rip that away from him seemed abhorrent to the former Gryffindor. 

Those cowards. He’d see them burn in fiendfyre for that.

Granted, he had no doubt that the ladies downstairs were already plotting the eternal suffering and damnation of whoever the culprit was revealed to be but he was not against getting up to a little Slytherin mischief himself. He’d be satisfied to get just a little piece of retribution, he wasn’t greedy for anything but Draco’s touch.

He breathed deep, taking in the soft scent of the blond’s silky hair; the weight of the smaller man against his chest a comfort in the turmoil of his heart. He took solace in the fact that Draco was safe in his arms, still chuckling and humming contentedly. 

Finally the blond pulled away, sitting up and facing his lover. There was a soft smile on his face, his hair loose and falling around his eyes and sharp jaw in unruly waves. He looked so real, so natural and vulnerable that Neville loved him even more fiercely in that moment.

Instead of blurting out his feelings, he claimed the man’s mouth in a filthy, hungry kiss, pulling the blond to straddle his lap. Draco squirmed, making Neville groan as he slid his hands down to Draco’s pyjama clad arse and gave it a squeeze. 

“The doctor’s gave me a clean bill of health.” The blond winked cheekily, gesturing his head towards the canopy bed. “I’m cleared for strenuous physical activity.”

As he spoke, he ground down on Neville’s crotch, grinning as the brunet gasped a moan and bucked up. The hand slipped up to Draco’s waist and held them still as the larger man shook his head.

“There’s nothing I’d like more than to fuck you through that mattress right now Dray…” he took a deep and shaky breath before looking up into grey eyes. “But I think that the Lady Zabini would string me up by the balls if I fucked her all but adopted son in her house before we’ve even been formally introduced. I love you but even we Gryffindors have some sense of self preservation.”

Draco laughed, throwing his head back freely, trusting Neville to keep a hold of him and not let him fall. It took a few seconds for the words to register and he went still. The hands on his hips tightened as his lover pulled him closer, burying his face in the crook of Draco’s neck.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s way too soon. You don’t have to say anything. Just don’t run away. Please don’t run away.” 

Neville’s voice was laced with panic, even as he tried to project safety and calm. Draco blinked, his hand coming up to cradle the back of the brunet’s head. They sat in silence for a few moments and he could feel the frantic beat of Neville’s heart against his own.

“You’re right. It’s too soon.” He murmured softly next to the other man’s ear. “I’m not ready to heat that.”

He slowly pulled away and a reluctant Neville let him, his head bowed in shame. Draco braced his cheeks and gently brought his face upwards. He pressed a tender kiss to the other man’s pale mouth.

“I’m not ready… yet.” 

Calm blue eyes met watery brown.

“I just don’t feel the same way…. I can’t. I don’t have it in me to fall so easily.”

He brushed a stray tear from the corner of Neville’s eyes. 

“That’s not to say that I won’t feel the same eventually.” He whispered against the trembling stubbled cheek. “Just… give me time?”

The brunet took a deep, fortifying breath and gave him a solemn nod. 

“I can do that.”

Draco smiled and kissed him again.

“Good.”

\----------------------------------------- 

“Hello, Cousin.”

Draco looked up from his reading to find Luna Lovegood standing in the doorway to the Library. He’d been cleared for physical activity, just at he’d told Neville, though both Lady Zabini and Blaise continued to monitor him closely. He’d taken to spending time in the great library, tired of his bed and still too sensitive to the bright sunlight to spend much time in the gardens. 

Luna was wearing a bright sundress with sky blue sheep frolicking across a tye-dyed background. It looked like something out of a drug dream. Still, the blonde carried it with an easy confidence that suited her personality well. Unlike Dumbledore who used his colourful garb to distract others from his hidden agendas.

Her hair was loose around her shoulders, falling in waves to her waist. She was wearing her usual turnip earrings and necklaces made of bits and bobs, and had a hand woven bag in her hand which she opened unto the table before him. Reaching in, she pulled out three large file folders and set them on the table. He recognized them as his own. 

He raised a curious eyebrow “You went to the apartment?”

She nodded and came around the table to give him a great big hug. 

“I went along with Neville when he checked your potions. The stasis charm Millicent had cast on them was wearing thin. Don’t worry though, you take meticulous notes so he has it in hand.”

She sat in the chair next to him, her fingers still tangled in his. 

“I brought these because I know how you hate to be bored. I thought that you would like to take a look at the case again. Keep your mind occupied while all this is sorted out.”

She didn’t have to say what the case was. They both knew what exactly had been his obsession since forever. The theft of the Spartyk Valentyn Ruby had been the magical crime of the century and had left magical and muggle law enforcement authorities baffled ever since. Draco must have had every scrap of information there was on the case, sorted and annotated into these three large files. He practically knew it all by heart, he’d read it all over and over again so many times. 

He squeezed her hand in thanks, never having to speak too many words with Luna. The odd little girl he’d known in his childhood had grown into a beautiful, clever but still a bit odd young woman. World Renowned Magizoologist, Head journalist and editor of the Quibbler, she had a finger on the pulse of the magical world, seeing patterns and trends with an alacrity that made the Creevy brothers green with envy. 

Not that she printed everything she saw. No, she kept most of the info to herself, writing the occasional letter and sending it off via rented and untraceable owl to Amelia Bones. Usually sometime after that, the Daily Prophet and other reputable news outlets would cover whatever scandal had just occurred. 

She was an oddball, but she’d stood with him throughout school, his trial and subsequent exile. It hadn’t been visible or vocal support, he’d long requested that she stay away from him publicly so as not to be tarred with the same brush. It had more been long rambling letters from her journeys overseas, each issue of the quibbler finding its way under the door of his flat, odd parcels full of rare potions ingredients appearing in his bath tub of all places.

Only after years had passed did he reach out to her once again, deeming it safe for her to be seen with him in public. They still didn’t meet very often, with her many travels taking her away for many months of the year. Still, he felt very close to her and appreciated having her in his life.

“I’m glad you’re ok now” she fiddled with one of her long chains as she stared at the dust motes floating in the rays of light through the windows. “Thankfully the wrackspurts didn’t cause too much damage to your brain. Nothing a few doses of whipwillow broth can’t fix right up. I’ve given Mufty a sack of it and instructions on how to prepare it.” 

She looked towards him, her blue eyes clear and bright. “Millicent told me about the Goblin wards. I’m going to be extra nice to them whenever I go to the bank now.”

“Thanks Luces. I think they’d appreciate that.” Draco blinked, staring back at her; well accustomed by now to her manner of speaking. “I spent a day there you know, down with the Horde in the caverns. Would you like to hear about it?”

“Oh yes please. I’d love that very much. Thank you.” She perked up, blinking rapidly. “Did you see any evidence of animals or livestock? I’ve always wanted to write an article on subterranean species.”

He frowned, “Sorry. I didn’t see much of anything other than the great library and a few vaults.”

She patted his hand comfortingly. “Don’t worry Cousin. You can find out the next time you visit.”

“The… next time?” he frowned in confusion but she only smiled and nodded.

“Yes. The next time. I’ll give you a list of questions to ask.”

“Okay” he agreed simply, trusting her word as he always did when she spoke with such quiet conviction. “I’ll make sure to take it along with me to ask. I think the old goblin Zyrzekt kind of liked me. He tolerated me well enough, I suppose.”

“Wonderful,” she clapped her hands and scooted a bit closer, eyes bright with anticipation. “Now, tell me everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and Luna Too! yay. I love writing Luna and Draco being Bros.
> 
>  
> 
> La Vedova Nera - The Black Widow


	5. Chapter 5

The door to his flat clicked shut, the duffel bag slipping from his fingers to thump softly unto the hard wood floor. Draco took a deep breath as he leaned against it, sighing in contentment as the familiar scent of home flooded his senses. 

It had been a trial and a half convincing the others to let him come back to the apartment by himself. Both Zabini women had been adamant in their wish for him to stay at the manor, even if only for a few more days. Thankfully, both Millicent and Neville had argued on his behalf, with certain conditions of course. Nothing too invasive, just letting Milli check the apartment twice over for her own piece of mind and set up her own layers of protective wards on top of his runes. 

Draco had accepted these terms readily, thankful that they hadn’t included someone coming along to ‘make sure he was protected’. As much as he loved both Blaise and her Mother to utter bits, he was starting to chafe badly under the constant coddling. 

He’d always been an independent soul, especially after the exile. He’d pulled himself up from hell and had built a life that he was pretty sure his parents would be proud of. He had a comfortable flat, job satisfaction, financial stability and an excellent, kind and caring lover. And he’d built this amazing existence without his magic or his family influence paving the way. Just his wit, his perseverance with a healthy heaping of dang orneriness and spite against those who would love to see him fall.

Besides, with both Millicent and Sylviene warding his loft and the old cinema below it up the kazoo and the Zabini house elf, Mufty, coming along and layering her own magic on the place; he was sure that his little loft space was more protected than muggle Fort Knox. 

With a groan he pushed himself upright, nudging his duffel to one side with his foot as he made his way towards his potions workspace. Neville’s expert handiwork was evident, the cauldrons bubbling along merrily with needed ingredients prepared and stored nearby. Neat hand scribed notes in his lover’s scrawl had been added to his own chicken scratch, carefully annotating all of the man’s observations and the steps he’d taken on Draco’s behalf. 

Kicking off his shoes, he stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the bathroom. Oh, how he’d missed his claw foot tub. Mufty had stocked the small shelf with his favourite bath bombs and candles and he took his time inspecting and sniffing at them. He felt utterly no shame in loving the muggle body care products, he’d always been vain about his skin and hair regimen. 

He was a Malfoy after all… well, he used to be anyway. Still, name aside, he’d invested a lot of time and money into his self-care and didn’t discriminate just because something wasn’t made by magic. It was a habit he’d learned from his father, surprisingly. 

Lucius may have been a pure blood supremacist and card carrying death eater but the man could hunt down a skin or hair care product in the most muggle of places like a niffler hunted gold. Severus would tell hilarious stories of the blonde dragging him into some of the weirdest muggle places, even donning muggle clothes and braving a hell pit of muggle commercialism called “Bed, Bath and Beyond.’ 

Severus, pale with the memory, had admitted that the ‘Beyond’ part must have meant ‘beyong the pits of Hades’ because everyone in the place must have been bat shit insane. The pair of wizards had come out of there a little trampled, a fair bit mauled, and a whole lot of traumatized though not without their prized booty. Lucius had sworn vehemently never to set foot in the pit of despair again only to recant every time his coveted product ran out. 

As Draco laughed himself sick at the tale, Severus would sip his wine with a smug smile, spinning a yarn about how Lucius would beg him to analyze the stuff and recreate it for him only for Severus to pretend that he couldn’t, just so he could witness the blond brave the muggle shopping experience again and again for a tub of Neutrogena. 

Dropping in a ‘Namastay in da Tub’ cucumber watermelon bath bomb and lighting a couple of candles, Draco sighed deeply as he lowered himself into the hot water. Oh yes, this was heaven. A press of a nearby remote turned on his music and he let himself drift, his worries melting away in the luxurious heat of the tub.

They were keeping his recovery secret for now, his only liaison with New Scotland Yard being CS Davies and Inspector Donovan for now. As far as anyone else was concerned, he was catatonic and being treated at a private care facility. Within the Ministry, only Bones and Millicent herself were aware of Draco’s current status. Even Bones, Head of the DoM thought that Draco was stuffed away in a home somewhere. 

Sylviene Malfoy-Richeleu had contacted her people at the ICW via secure Floo and had already made Draco’s file classified. The fact that the attack had been perpetrated an Unspeakable, someone who still remained a danger to him and had shown no compunctions with attacking a magical exile in a purely muggle area; was a grave concern to many parties. 

So far they had been banking on the fact that most of the Powers That Be in the magical United Kingdom didn’t care two farts about Draco other than a topic of passing gossip, and wouldn’t look too closely at the situation. That would leave them with enough time and leeway to properly deal with Granger as they saw fit. 

To say that the ladies in his life were a particularly vindictive and blood thirsty bunch was an understatement. The plans they’d brainstormed had boggled even his devious mind. The surprising part was how eager Neville had been to get his own in as well. 

They hadn’t mentioned to him that it was Granger, that information was way too volatile for anyone but the five of them to know. All Neville had been told was that the attacker was an Unspeakable and that they had to tread very lightly. 

Draco smiled as he thought back to the way he’d dragged Longbottom into the nearest broom closet and snogged him silly, utterly turned on by the blood thirsty look in the normally jovial and laid back Gryffindor’s eyes. 

He’d almost ripped the man’s pants open and swallowed his cock right then and there, he’d been so turned on. It had only been Lady Zabini’s not so subtle throat clearing outside the door along with Blaise’s giggles that had held him back.

They’d finally decided that the best plan would be to get Draco away from London, fast. At least until they were able to take care of the situation with Granger. 

Despite his initial recovery, Draco was still being affected by the magic of the spell; and needed time to rest and recover. Besides, if Granger found out that he’d not only survived the spell, but had also retained all of the memories that she’d been trying so hard to destroy, who knew how she react. Fuck, who even knew what crazy shit the know-it-all bitch had learned in her years at the Department of Mysteries. 

After the water had gone tepid and he’d done his impression of a prune, he tossed his clothes in the wash and slipped into a thick terry cloth robe; padding barefoot over to the silver bullet fridge and opening it. Just as he’d suspected, Mufty had stocked his favourites and he grinned as his stomach grumbled loudly.

“Thank you Mufty Dear.” He hummed, pulling out a container of cheesy pasta and shoving it into the microwave. “Chicken Carbonara. Yumm-O”

After the oven dinged he grabbed at the container, hissing as he touched the hot dish before reaching for a dishtowel and taking the food over to his bed. Mufty had also seen fit to stock a six pack of butter beer and he took a couple of those as well before flopping unto his large bed. 

The sheets had been freshly laundered and felt cool and delicious against his skin. Kicking up his feet, he reached for the remote and called up the episodes of Coronation Street that he’d missed while in hospital and at the manor, setting them to play in order.

At the first bite of delicious food, he moaned contentedly and took a sip of the magical beer, humming appreciatively as the tart sweetness burst across his tongue. Goddess, he’d missed the taste of butter beer. He’d left it behind cold turkey after his exile and would probably not drink too much of it in the future but in that moment, it was a wonderful treat for him to relax and enjoy.  
Oh yes, it was good to be home.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The sheets were cool under his flushed skin, the pale morning sun pouring in from the bare loft windows and flooding the room with light. Draco writhed with pleasure, his breath catching in his chest as Neville moved above him; the weight of the larger man a comfort as they rocked slowly together.   
He pressed his forehead against the bedding, hitching little sighs falling from his lips as he arched his back into Neville’s rolling and rhythmic thrusts. 

Neither of them spoke, all words lost to them both as they communicated only in soft, sweet gasps and sighs. His lover’s breath was hot and ragged against the back of his neck, interspersed with a string of brief, open mouthed kisses that spilled like pearls down his spine. 

He relaxed into the strong hands holding him, letting the brunet control the pace completely. Neville had a tendency to keep it slow and steady, with a remarkable stamina and endurance that often drove Draco out of his mind with pleasure before ecstasy would crash upon him like a tidal wave. 

He’d woken that morning to his lover bearing breakfast, crisp white bags filled with freshly baked scones and hot, rich coffee from the café downstairs. He’d kissed the blond warmly, served him breakfast in bed and had spent the next half hour checking over the various potions and chatting about the odd bits of information and gossip he’d found by reading through all the issues of the Quibbler that he’d missed while in Africa.

Licking butter from his fingers and sipping the last of his coffee, Draco had nodded along to his lover’s happy chattering, humming and making listening noises. Then, tucking his debris into one of the bags, he’d set it on the night stand before slipping off his robe and setting it aside. Letting Neville’s warm voice wash over him, he lounged naked on the bed, stretching languidly and waiting for his lover to look over and catch a clue.

He didn’t have to wait long and within minutes the carefree rambling had stuttered to a halt and he had a stripped naked and enthusiastic lover in his bed and his arms, muttering thanks that they were finally out of Zabini Manor and away from Viviana’s hawk like gaze.

Neville tasted like strong coffee and the buttered scones they both shared and Draco sighed happily as the brunet snogged him silly. He’d never really liked kissing when he was younger, much more interested in the carnal act of fucking. 

He’d seen sex more as a tool, a way to relieve the mounting stress of his academic and social obligations. He’d never sought that kind of intimacy with his lovers, never feeling the need or the want to spend time in such close quarters.

That had changed with Neville. The former Gryffindor loved to kiss. He loved exploring Draco’s mouth with his questing and hungry tongue, loved nibbling at the corners of the blond’s full lips. He adored pressing slow, deliberate kisses along Draco’s sharp cheeks, his strong jaw and down his slim neck. He would do wicked things with his tongue that would have Draco squirming, crying out and even screaming on occasion; driving the blond to distraction.

He would reel Draco close and steal a quick, chaste kiss then let him go. He’d press his lips to Draco’s knuckles, a soft and utterly tender look in his brown eyes. He’d bite along that juncture at the back of the blond’s neck that never failed to leave marks on his pale skin or make him wobbly at the knees. And sometimes, when Draco was in a good mood, he’d let the brunet pull him unto his lap for a hot and heavy snog session like ickle school boys with their first crush.

Neville never went too far in public though, keeping things subdued when they were in spaces where the blond wasn’t as comfortable with such things. Still, Draco always felt underlying affection and was surprised at how comfortable he was with it now. His parents had never been ones for physical affection, the most he’d been touched with care as a child had been by the house elves. 

In school he’d known the bruising touch of quidditch practice and the carnal contact of his sexual evolution. Severus had never been one for proud pats on the back or comforting hugs and Pansy’s tendency to drape her body on his had just been a way for her to seek attention. It had been years after his exile before he’d even grown comfortable with letting even Blaise and Millicent close enough to form that kind of intimacy. And now Neville, with his wide smile and guileless brown eyes, had slotted himself right up against Draco’s side like he’d always been there.

He cried out at a particularly deep thrust, his toes curling against the bed as his lover kissed a hot trail up his neck to just behind his ear. Hissing a breath, he turned his head to the side and stared at their joined hands, fingers threaded together and holding on almost desperately amidst the surging desire. His skin was so pale in contrast to Neville’s healthy tan, so different from each other but so beautiful entwined together. 

It was uncanny how they fit together so perfectly, despite being so different in school. Back then Draco had been the consummate Slytherin, working hard to live up to what was expected of him by his family, the school and magical society as a whole. It had been difficult to balance his obligations with his own individual life goals but he’d been determined to make something of himself that wasn’t just being a Malfoy. 

Neville, on the other hand, had been nothing but background fodder to the Gryffindor drama that had been The Boy Who Lived To Be A Dramatic Bitch, his gormless toadies and the revolving door of Hogwarts teachers trying to Avada his moronic arse, and thus Draco had mostly ignored ‘old bogbottom’ except for the usual house rivalry bullshit. 

But Draco was not the boy he was in school anymore, neither was Neville. They’d both grown up and had left those immature stereotypes behind and the men they were now seemed perfectly suited to each other.

His orgasm stole over him like a thief in the night, sending his eyes rolling back in his head as he quivered in his lover’s arms. Neville rocked him through it, soon after finding his own bliss as he bit down on Draco’s pale shoulder. The brunet sucked apologetically on the hurt as his hips snapped and stilled, his throbbing heat buried deep in his lover.

They kissed lazily for a while before a reluctant Draco pulled a grumbling and sleepy lover from the warmth of his bed. They’d stumbled into the shower, fooling around some more before finally emerging, sated and thoroughly cleaned. 

Neville raided the fridge, making a joyful noise as he pulled out one of the casseroles dishes that Mufty had thoughtfully provided. Then came the drama of clearing out the oven, as Draco had always used the blasted thing like a cupboard; figuring out how to turn it on, (Draco had to call the café manager Jodie on his cell phone for advice as Neville was more accustomed to lighting stone ovens or cooking over an open flame out in the wilds.) and how long to cook the thing so it was neither raw and inedible or burnt to a useless crisp. By the time they sat down to eat, both men were hungry, exhausted and utterly proud of themselves. 

As Draco shoveled a heaping spoonful of food into his mouth, pureblood manners be damned he was fucking starving, he looked over at Neville and felt a pang. The brunet was steadily working his way through his own plate; his chest bare as he’d only taken the time to pull on a pair of sweat pants. His brown hair was tousled and fell over one eye as the tattoos across his chest and arms flexed as he ate.

He was beautiful no doubt, a fine specimen on a man and Draco had always appreciated beauty. But for someone who’d known and sampled the fine and beautiful all of his life, Draco needed much more in a relationship. He needed someone who could keep up, someone who could challenge him mentally and who had enough back bone to stand up against him when he got especially stubborn. 

He wanted someone who could understand what he’d been through, someone who knew what it was like to be torn between worlds, torn between loyalties. Someone who understood the pressure of family legacy and of finding your own path in life. Someone who wasn’t trained to conceal any emotion, any affection, any weakness, from a young age. 

He stopped chewing, blinking down at his plate as his mind tripped over itself, powered down and then rebooted. Morgana’s saggy tits. He was falling for the bloody Gryffindor idiot. He wasn’t in love the man, by any means. He wasn’t one to give himself lightly. But the potential was there.

He swallowed thickly, shoving another spoonful into his mouth and chewing mechanically, all the while trying to cruelly stomp down the panic that was starting to bubble in his gut. 

He wasn’t going to freak out about this. He simply wasn’t. He was a calm and rational grown up adult, dammit, was not going lose him damn mind over some feelings. He was the ice prince of fucking Slytherin for Merlin’s own sake, not some dewy eyed Hufflepuff with soft, squishy insides.

He quickly pulled his scattered thoughts, taking a deep breath before braving a look up at the brunet once more. Neville smiled back at him, chewing happily as the sun danced across his broad, tattooed shoulders; his hair unruly and curling around his ears and his brown eyes warm and full of affection. 

Draco made a soft noise and shoved another spoonful into his mouth.

Oh Sweet Gaia, he was so fucked.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOCA - Serious Organised Crime Agency

“You look good behind the wheel, Mills.” Draco smirked and he ran a gloved hand along the leather seat and reached up to pull the belt across his chest. She’d picked him up just after midnight in one of those non-descript sedans that looked straight from the yard’s carpool. “Glad you finally decided to take my advice and get a driver’s license.” 

The witch gave him a sneer, tightening her hands in their fingerless red gloves on the steering wheel before throwing the car into gear and peeling away from the curb. She was dressed smartly in muggle denim trousers and a burgundy turtleneck with a matching leather jacket tailored to fit her perfectly. Her dark hair was in an intricate knot at the base of her head and her make up minimum.

She took the next corner at speed and laughed as Draco cursed loudly and scrambled for a hand hold. “Don’t go buying one of your fancy penis extensions for me yet, blondie. I only learned to drive one of these things because I needed Defensive Driving for my SOCA qualification.”

“I love how the entire wizarding world has been fallen under ‘Serious Organized Crime.’ “Draco laughed a bit hysterically, bracing himself against the seat as they took another sharp turn. “I guess wizards really are kind of like the mafia in many ways.”

Millicent chuckled in agreement, shifting gears expertly as they sped through the deserted city streets. Forty minutes later they were pulling up to a small farmhouse just outside the city. The place was a police safe house, with a large enough yard and woods to guarantee privacy and secrecy.

As he stepped out if the vehicle, he scowled across the hood at his friend, shaking out his tense limbs. “You do know that defensive driving is only for extreme situations and not all the time right? I must have lost ten years off my life!”

The witch rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic Dray. Not as many as ten years surely… more like three.”

He gave her a sharp glare as she chuckled, following her into the house where CS Davies and Inspector Donovan were waiting. Both men with in civvies, cups of coffee in hand. 

“Good to see you up and about Prince.” Davies said gruffly, getting up to shake Draco’s hand. “I thought I’d lost one of my best for a while there.” 

Draco found himself flushing. Davies wasn’t one to give compliments freely. He reminded Draco of his godfather in some ways and the blond had a lot of respect for the no-nonsense commander. Not ones for small talk, they soon gather around the worn dining room table and begin the debriefing. 

Draco told them everything he remembers, everything except Granger’s name of course. That kind of kryptonite was too dangerous for anyone else to handle. There were already plans being laid against the jumped up know it all and the band of furies Draco called his family were the ones most suitable to rain down their wrath upon the Gryffindor bitch.

It took a couple hours and two more pots of coffee for them to break everything down and go over all the information. He could feel the frustration coming from the others, it was a frustration he felt himself. 

There was no way that the case would ever be truly solved in the muggle world. Not with Granger being an Unspeakable. Even if Davies were informed of the fact, the Ministry of Magic would never let one of their spook squad face muggle justice. Not for Draco. Not for anyone.

Both Draco and Millicent knew that the culprit would soon face her comeuppance but the men sitting with them wouldn’t have the same luxury. They would never know what happened, the secret of Granger’s downfall would be all but radioactive even after the fact.

In fact, Sylviene had already made them all swear blood oaths never to reveal Crow’s true identity. No one else would ever know what the five of them knew. Not if they wanted to avoid the wrath of the DoM and its long memory and sinister reach. 

By the time they wrapped up and said their goodbyes the sky was already starting to brighten. Draco was exhausted and hungry and put up little protest when Millicent suggested they stop for breakfast. There was a food truck near a construction site and they sat on the hood of the sedan, eating thick waffles hot off the griddle and loaded with the toppings of the full English breakfast. 

Grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, thick cut sausages and crispy bacon topped with a poached egg. All piled high on two thick waffles in a sturdy cardboard carton. Tall recyclable cups filled with steaming hot tea sat on the car behind them, strong and expertly doctored by the friendly truck owners.

They both ate in compensable silence as the sun rose over the city, the quiet of the dawn broken slowly as more and more construction workers arrived for work. Draco sprung for desert- crepes filled with strawberries, dark chocolate and piles of whip cream. Millicent gave the concoction a doubtful look, glancing down at her tummy before saying ‘fuck it’ and grabbing the second fork. 

Finally, the dark haired witch brook the silence. “When are you leaving?” 

“This afternoon. Sylviene managed to get the untraceable portkey to her estate in France. After that I’ll be taking a flight to Berlin. My muggle visa is up to date so there won’t be a problem.” Draco licked the last bit of cream from his little plastic utensil. “Neville and Mufty have already helped me move all my potions to Zabini Manor and Viviana will be keeping an eye on them for me. Blaise and I met with Jodie from the café downstairs and those two ladies seem to have everything in hand.”

Millicent nodded, searching the empty carton for any stray globs of cream. “Longbottom going with you?” 

“He’s meeting me in Berlin in a few days. It would raise too much suspicion for him to just up and leave England. He has some legacy business to take care of with his grandmother anyway. There’s also some event at the weasel den that he’s promised to attend.” 

He curled his lip at the mention of the red headed clan but said nothing more. Neville had grown up with these people and remained close to them. Draco had no place dictating who his lover held dear, nor did he desire such. One of the reasons he liked the man was his capacity for love and his innate sense of self and compassion. 

Both men had lives, interests and circles independent of each other and the blond appreciated the difference in their worlds. It went beyond being just former house rivals. Both men had grown up so differently, with different backgrounds, values and examples of what it was to be family. Both men had bloomed under different conditions and had built lives for themselves with trusted and beloved people to share them with.

He’d been pleased when Neville had stated, in no uncertain terms, that he was coming with Draco on his trip. Of course, they’d just finished making love and had both been strung out in post coital bliss; but the warm feeling in his chest of knowing that his boyfriend? … man friend? … lover?, would be accompanying him on his journey had lingered long after. 

He smiled to himself as he helped clean up the debris and got back into the car. This wasn’t the way he’d intended to take a much needed vacation abroad but he would make the best of what he had. He scoffed to himself, shaking his head as the city whizzed by. Merlin, he was even starting to think like a bloody Gryffindor. 

Millicent dropped him off at his apartment and he took the time to look over everything carefully before grabbing his luggage and picking up his cell phone to call Blaise. His fingers had just grazed the screen when all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

Without a second thought he ducked as a blade whizzed through the air where his neck had been, tucking himself into a roll that brought him over to his bed. There was no time to go for his gun safe but thankfully the knife sheathed under his pillow slipped into his hand easily. He turned to his attacker, knife up and ready and started in surprise at the gold armor and wide smile of crooked black teeth.

The blond gaped somewhat stupidly for a moment. 

“Shadowskull?” 

The goblin laughed, a rusty hoarse thing that sounded like bedrock cracking; before bringing his long, sharp spear to thump on the wood floor. He leaned against the massive weapon and cocked his head at the still crouching blond.

“I came to see if you still had your wits about you, Wixen.” He looked Draco up and down slowly before nodding to himself. “Seemed I was right in naming you ‘dhec or daan haakhaan’. “

“Friend of the … People?” Draco didn’t relax, he wasn’t foolish; but he did stand; knife still at the ready. The goblin warrior nodded, his armor gleaming in the light streaming in the loft’s bare windows. 

“Aye. Most would not have survived your enemy’s chosen strike. Even with the indicium in your possession and its many protections, the strength of the witch’s spell would have devastated your mind if you did not possess the strength of will and mind that you do.”

That black, vicious grin was back. “Fortunately for you, little Prince, you have remained strong. I would have been very displeased if I had found you weak and enfeebled and had to put you down like a wounded steed.” 

“Yes. “ Draco inhaled sharply, forcing his heartbeat to calm. “How fortunate for me indeed. I am fond of having my head attached to my neck.” 

Shadowskull barked a harsh laugh that was more growl. 

“You are an interesting one… for wizardkin.” He snarled the last word like it was a curse. Maybe it was… for a goblin. Draco could only guess. “Grandmaster Zyrzekt is very intrigued with your muggle for-en-sick methods and he has my father’s ear. Already the great archive grows another wing of caves, the scholars are ever hungry for knowledge.”

“Really? I didn’t think that the goblins saw any value in muggle sciences. ”Draco blinked, surprised. “Most see it as useless drivel.”

“Most Wizardkin. Arrogant fools.” The other corrected. “Your For-en-sick logic solved a puzzle that our goblin magic could not. The horde would not deign dismiss strange magic if it can serve the people.”

“Ah… I see.” Draco quirked a pale eyebrow, “Well… You seem very chatty today. The last time we met I got the impression that you didn’t speak much. I also got the impression that you didn’t speak fluent English.”

“My job was to observe. Report.” Shadowskull tipped his head to the side. “To determine what, if any, alliance could be made with the exiled Prince.”

‘And?” Draco kept himself still, knife still up and ready. “Has a verdict been reached?”

”You are not boring.” Golden armor clanked as the goblin shrugged. “The Grandmaster is intrigued by your knowledge of both the muggle and magical world. You are an interesting one, little Prince. That is certain.”

Draco frowned. “And… Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” 

That wicked grin flashed again. “We goblins like things interesting.” 

He reached behind his and snapped something off the back of his armor. It was a small packaged wrapped in parcel paper and sealed with the dark green wax of Gringotts bank. He threw it to the blond who caught it deftly, never taking his eyes from the being in front of him. That seemed to please the goblin and he nodded once again.

“Grandmaster Zyrzekt desires to share knowledge with you. He sends a gift to symbolize his wish to open negotiations.”

Draco glanced down at the parcel, his mind racing. What an opportunity. If he were anyone else, he would drop everything at the chance to visit the horde once more. But he was not everyone else, and his life was complicated enough right now.

“I accept this token and agree to open negotiations.” He bowed his head slightly, still not taking his eyes off the goblin before him. “But it will have to wait until I return from my journey overseas.”

“Aye. Zyrzekt will be pleased indeed.” Shadowskull thumped the butt his spear twice against the floor. “He has chosen the token well and is sure that you will find use for it on your journey.”

And without even a goodbye or fare thee well, the goblin was gone; vanished silently into thin air like a house elf. Draco stood there frozen for a few seconds before sinking unto the bed with an almost hysterical wheeze. 

Great Merlin’s ghost. What the fuck was all of that?

He tossed the knife unto the bedding, wiggling his cramped fingers and examined the package carefully. The paper seemed aged but not dusty. The large wax seal dominated one side of the flat parcel. He carefully lifted the seal with the knife and opened the wrapping. 

They were letters. Letters, documents and a few loose photos. Sharp grey eyes scanned them quickly, only to stop suddenly at one of the pictures. He gasped in shock, mouth falling open as he slid off the bed and sat on the thick rug with a thump.

“Morgana’s frigid titties.” He breathed, tuning over the photo and seeing the names written there in faded spindly script. He turned the photo back over and carefully set it aside before picking up the letter siting to the top of the pile. 

With slightly trembling fingers he slid the envelope open and took out the thin folded paper. The writing was the same spider’s crawl from the photo, faded with time and creased as if the letter was folded and refolded many time.

“Dearest Papa…” he read to himself, skimming the words until he reached to the sign off at the bottom. “… your ever loving daughter… Elfriede Günter- Schwetz. Sweet merciful Gaia. He had a child.”

The blonde sat back against the bed in a daze, the paper slipping from his fingers unto the bed. Turned out that Wilhelm Gerhardt Shwetz, one of the infamous masterminds of the theft of the Spartak Valentyn Ruby; had a secret child that no one knew about. A child whose mother’s name was Günter apparently. 

He looked back at the documents spread before him, his heart starting to race as he pushed up to his knees. These were Wilhelm’s private documents. Most likely from his private vault. 

No one else had ever seen these. If there had been any information on these, Draco would have known about it. For all his impatience with Draco’s lifelong obsession, Lucius Malfoy never hesitated in using his authority to source information about the case from the ministry.

But this…. This was….. It seemed that the goblins had held something back. Even after all these years, they’d held something back. Draco felt a wide smile creeping unto his face, his eyes bright as he started sifting through the old documents; eager to delve right into this new mystery.

Oh, that old hobgoblin knew him too fucking well. 

He picked up the photo once more, taking in the sepia toned image of a man and child standing in front of a quaint little house, the numbers 329 carved on a plaque on the stone wall.

He let out a breathless laugh and slumped back down to sit on the rug once again, his mind whirling with all new plans and ideas.

This… Merlin’s saggy balls. This changed everything.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We see a bit of life from Neville's perspective.

Neville eased the door to his grandmother’s parlor closed and let out a soft breath of relief. It was always a trial dealing with Augusta Longbottom. She hadn’t been the same since he’d graduated from Hogwarts and moved out from the mansion to his cottage estate full time. 

In fact, according to Uncle Algie and Professor McGonagall, she hadn’t been the same since her son and his wife had been tortured into insanity by the bitch, Bellatrix Lestrange. Neville had never known her to be any other way, but whenever Algie would get into his cups; he’s turn maudlin and wax poetic about the good old days until Neville scraped him up off the floor and packed him off to bed.

For Neville, his childhood had been caught between his grandmother’s rancid, bitter disappointment and his parent’s eternally blank gazes. His only bright spot of joy had been when Pandora Lovegood would take babysit for an ever frustrated Augusta. 

The flighty blonde had been a close friend of Alice Longbottom and Lily Potter at Hogwarts; and with Lily dead and Alice close enough to it, she’d taken it upon herself to look out for the children of her beloved friends. Unfortunately, Harry had been spirited away by Dumblodore to a secret location and there had only been Neville left for her to dote on.

He’d been extremely grateful for her presence in his life in his formative years. While in UNI, Neville had taken a psychology course once and had realized that his love-map, the core of his emotional psyche which usually solidified at around six years of age, had only formed normally solely due to the care and kindness Pandora had shown him in all her flighty and eccentric ways. 

She’d taught to be gentle with himself and encouraged him when he was feeling emotionally and sometimes physically battered by his own family. She’d sown within his little heart a deep and abiding love of plants and the feeling of rich dirt between his fingers. She had nurtured his love of seeing things grow, of seeing flowers open and bloom. He’d also opened up the world of potions to him, helping him discover the many ways that the plants he loved could help others in so many ways.

She’d trusted him to look out for her daughter Luna, a bright and quirky young girl just as wonderful and surprising as her mother. Pandora had been a Seer, a powerful one and he been startled the first time he’d witnessed her have a vision in the middle of their kitchen. 

Her husband, Xeophillius, alerted by the sound of dishes falling and breaking, had rushed in and had gently gathered a crying Neville and trembling Luna in his arms, smelling of paper and ink, and had comforted them in their childish fear.

Her accidental death by potions explosion had devastated young Neville, sending him into a deep depression that had even his usually distant Grandmother concerned. He’d ended up missing Pandora’s funeral in his emotional spiral and hadn’t even known that a grieving Xeophillius had taken his daughter to stay with his sister in Romania. By the time he’d gotten back a semblance of himself, it had been time to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Meeting Luna again in second year had been a happy occasion and their friendship had remained strong over the years since. Even with both of them always traveling and rarely in the country at the same time, they always fell into each other’s company like they had been parted at all.

He quickly stepped up to the great fireplace and grabbed some floo powder. He dared not linger too long in the old halls lest Uncle Algie of any other of his brutish, whiskey soaked compatriots spotted him and got to their teasing. He’d long since stopped complaining about them to family matriarch as she’d long ago stopped caring about such things. All she cared about now was her Wizengamot attendances and pressuring Neville to get hitched to some random witch with good blood and sturdy hips who would pop out a few worthy heirs. 

It had taken years to stop his tender heart from taking what his family said and did seriously. He’d managed to build his own life and he was happy. That was enough for him for now. He stumbled out the fireplace of his little cottage and took a deep and comforting breath. He was home. 

He puttered around the place for a while, tending to his various house plants and packing for his upcoming trip. Draco had left for France three days ago and had called him from the Malfoy-Richeleu residence in Marseille. The blond had sounded preoccupied and had confessed to spending most of his time in the at the library, going through old records. 

Neville had cherished the conversations, even the ones where Draco rambled absently as paper rustled in the background. He missed the blond terribly, even though it had been less than a week since they’d parted. He missed his taste, his touch, the warmth of his skin in the morning sunlight. He missed him something like a physical pain. 

He knew that the feelings were intense, and that they were way too much for Draco to handle at this time. He still felt pangs of remembered panic at memory of him blurting out his love like a fool. There had been a good chance that Draco would have backed off then and there and it still awed the brunet that the other man had decided to give this thing between them a chance.

He walked around the cottage, flicking his wand out of his wrist holster and sending a few cleaning charms in quick succession. He’d hardly been here the last few days, spending most of his time up at the manor house and a fine layer of dust had settled over the place. So, as he waited for Luna to arrive from her place, he took the time to set things to rights.

The quirky blonde had long moved out of her fathers’ house in Ottery St. Catchpole, using it mostly as the main office and printing press of the Quibbler Magazine. With Xenophillius away on sabbatical in the Appalachian Mountains, the old Lovegood Family home stood empty most times. 

Luna had gotten a quaint little house in Hertfordshire, a magical community that could trace its roots back 4,000 years and a forty strong coven of local hedge witches tending the nexus of ley lines that had made the location so popular. She had a lovely little garden that Neville would visit whenever he was in the country, filled with Pandora’s favourite flowering plants and cute little birdhouses and fairy gates tucked amongst the blooms. Sometimes they would spend evenings out in the garden, enjoying the sunset and sharing memories of childhood joy. 

He leaned into the fridge, checking the integrity of the stasis charms on the various jars and bottles filled with more than just food. Shaking his head in exasperation, Neville made a mental note to himself to give his fridge and pantry a thorough cleaning in the morning before he left for Berlin. He was just changing the sheets and linens to fresh ones when he heard the crack of apparition in the garden. 

Luna was like a force of nature, sweeping into the house in a whirlwind of naturally dyed wool skirts, hand crafted leather bags, tinkling trinkets woven into her hair and the bleating and chirping of a menagerie of small animals. She grinned widely at the sight of him and threw herself into his arms with a laugh. Neville joined her in laughter, spinning her around before setting her down on the thick heart rug. He felt a weight on his shoulder and looked over to see a black bird perched there, its feathers shining iridescent in the light. 

He stilled, glancing over at the blond who grinned cheekily at him. There was tiny otter looking creature peeking out of a woven pouch slung around her waist. Her necklace wasn’t a necklace but some kind of strange rainbow scaled snaked that glittered in the light. A baby ram with sky blue wool butted softly against his leg and bleated happily and he carefully squatted to pet the thick fleece. 

“You starting a petting zoo, Lovegood?” He looked up at her with a quirked eyebrow. “Branching out from the printing business into animal husbandry now?”

Carefully placing the tiny fur baby into an empty tea cup, she lifted the snake from her neck to set it on a rolled up sweater near the hearth. The bird flapped over the perch on the back of the couch, waddling its way up and down the overstuffed back. She deftly picked up the baby ram from where it was still trying to butt Neville’s leg and turned it towards the rest of the house to explore. 

“Not likely.” She laughed gaily, shedding her bags and layers of clothes haphazardly until she was down to a simple shift dress. “I just happened to make a few new friends on my travels.” 

Grabbing his arm, she dragged him over to the couch and they flopped on to it; sighing as she rested her head on his shoulder. He buried his nose in her wavy tresses. She smelled like Alstroemeria or Peruvian Lily and the trinkets woven between the strands glinting in the morning light as the tresses spilled across his chest. She fit comfortably in his arms, just as she always did. Just as she did since they were young children sitting at Pandora’s knee. 

They’d been as close as brother and sister, growing even closer during their time at Hogwarts and in the years since. For Neville, Luna Lovegood was the platonic love of his life and he cherished her quirky ways and unorthodox perspective. They chatted for a bit, catching up on each other’s lives and their travels. 

Soon enough the subject turned to Draco and Neville gave a gusty sigh, letting his head fall unto her shoulder. “I’m gone on him, LunaFortuna. It’s hopeless.”

“Well, you certainly do love a challenge.” She giggled, her laugh a clear as a bell. “Although this one gives a new meaning to ‘bearding a dragon in his den.”

Neville gave a scandalized sound, flushing red as he slumped further into the soft couch. He carefully threaded his fingers through hers and turned his head up to look her in the eye. 

“You’re ok with this right? I know he’s your favorite cousin…”

She placed a small hand over his mouth and gave him a knowing look.

“Nev… you’ve been in love or at least in lust with Draco since your sixth year. I’ve seen all the notebooks with ‘Neville hearts his dragon’ scribbled in the margins.”

“Oh Merlin, Please stop” he begged, his face going hot in mortification. 

She patted his hand in mock sympathy and stood, walking over to start the kettle for tea. “You were so angry when you came back from Nepal and found out that he’d been exiled. I thought that you were going to storm the ministry then and there and demand that they turn the sentence over.”

He slid sideways down the couch and pressed his face into the cushions, closing his eyes at the memory of that time. It had taken both Harry and Ron physically tackling him to the ground to keep him from doing something incredibly foolhardy. He’d ended up hexing Ron that day for some tactless words the redhead had uttered and had to be stunned before he would stop.

He’d ended up having to go on another long journey to work out the suppressed anger at the wizarding world. With no way to contact Draco and no guarantee that the blond would even give him the time of day, Neville had thrown himself into the wilds of the world’s jungles to sort himself out.

The bird hopped down from the back of the couch to perch on the side of his head, moving its head this way and that so that it could match its beady gaze with his own. Neville frowned, keeping still as to not upset the bird.

“Don’t you judge me too, Hugin…. Or are you Munin?” He grumbled. 

Luna laughed, shooing the bird away playfully and watching as it flew over to where the little furkin was snoozing away in the tea set. She nudged Neville into sitting up and sat next to him. Taking his hand in both of hers, she looked into his eyes.

“I should be asking if you are alright.” She squeezed his hand softly. “You must be freaking out over the attack.”

“Merlin, yes.” Neville moaned and sunk his head on to his free hand. 

“Everyone at Zabini Manor seemed so fucking calm and collected by the time I got there. If I wasn’t terrified that they would hex my bloody balls off I would have demanded what the fuck was actually going on. And Draco…. He was just so fucking calm. There I was, having a mental fucking breakdown and he was just there… comforting me! Me! When he was the one who was almost turned into a vegetable.”

He tried to control his breathing, drawing in ragged breaths and he pressed his hand to his heart. Luna was a steady presence beside him. He felt comfort in the fact that he finally had someone to talk too about all of this. 

He couldn’t have confided in Draco. The blond had his own coping mechanisms which made little sense to Neville but he know enough to know that falling apart like he wanted to would not have been received well.

He’d just been so fucking terrified. He’d lost his family in a scarily similar way and the thought of losing Draco now that he’d finally had a chance of a future together had pulled the rug from under him. When he’d finally gone home from Draco’s side, he’d locked himself in the cottage’s small bathroom and had fallen apart, gibbering under the steady flow of hot water; great big sobs wracking his frame. 

He’d finally pulled himself together the next morning and had gone about his day, a hard ball of fear and rage still pressing against the inside of his ribs and no true way to deal with it. He wasn’t close with the Zabinis or Bulstrode and as much as he loved his Gryffindor friends, they were very much anti Slytherin. 

Besides, the fact that Draco was up and walking was still a secret being kept from the Ministry and wizarding Britain as a whole.  
That was why he was so grateful that Luna knew about Draco. She’d always known just what to say to him … and what not to say. She knew when to let him wear himself out until all his anger and frustration had been drained completely. 

Soon enough Neville found himself sitting on the couch, staring into his teacup as a sky blue baby ram bleated gently in his lap. He dug his fingers into the soft fleece and felt its warmth and its heartbeat under his palm. 

The little rainbow snake and the otter lay curled up and sleeping in his old sweater and Luna’s humming voice came from somewhere further in the cottage. The black bird sat on the chair arm next to him, its head tucked under one wing as it cawed in its sleep. 

He felt a bit hollow, but much better. The fear and anger that had been roiling in his gut had been drained, leaving a kind of peaceful calm. He took a sip of the now cold tea, grimaced and whipped out his wand for a warming charm. There, that was better.

Luna came back into the room, a pair of dark grey slacks and a burgundy button down shirt. “Get ready or we’re going to be late. I hope you have Harry’s present already wrapped. I can never remember the charm for it and it would take way too long to do the muggle way.”

Neville grimaced. Oh yes. Harry’s Birthday Party at Ottery St. Catchpole. He already promised that he’d go. He nodded his head towards his work table to where a clay pot with a plant stood. Small sky blue fruit hung from it in a low bunch with a matching blue bow.

“I’m getting him an Ice Cream Banana tree. I tied a bow on it. No other way to wrap it really.” He shrugged, setting the tea aside and gently lowering the baby ram to the ground. It bleated at him in annoyance at losing its bed and trotted away.

“Musa acuminate. Very nice.” Luna hummed. “I’ll have him make a smoothie for me one of these days. Harry makes the best smoothies.”

She gave him a shrewd look. “Can you handle being there today? The old crowd is not very enamored with a certain former Malfoy.”

“I can handle a bit of talk.” Neville rolled his eyes and huffed a breath. Standing up and taking the clothes from her. “Just…” he paused at the door to his bedroom. “If you see my getting ready to punch out a couple of Ron’s teeth, come rescue me ok?”

She grinned and gave him a double thumbs up. “Will do.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

They stopped by the old Lovegood household first for Luna to deposit her baby otter and ram, letting them run around the farm yard with the other critters Luna had adopted. The snake she wound around her neck, her present for Harry. It was an Amazonian Rainbow Snake and apparently a chatty little lady if the local parselmouth was to be believed. The raven had found a home on Neville’s head, not even wavering as he hefted the potted plant into his arms. 

They took a stroll over the rolling green hills until the Weasley home came into view. The house looked just like it did in his childhood, patched together and bustling with loud boisterous voices and numerous farm animals meandering about.

Harry greeted them warmly, hugging them both and pulling them further into the living room where the rest of the Weasley clan was gathered. They were greeted with a wall of cheers and soon pulled into multiple conversations at once. 

It wasn’t until after they’d stuffed themselves on Mrs. Weasley’s delicious food and lay about the small living room like slugs, that the topic of Draco’s attack came up. Predictably it was Ron that started it all, being his usual obtuse self. Ginny had tried to elbow the man, scowling at his utter lack of tact but Ron was only just gearing up to his usual ‘We hate slimy snakes’ rant. 

Neville shared a look with Luna, utterly unsurprised with what a man-child the red head was being. He’d known Ronald Weasley for most of his life and had figured out years ago that the wizard was the living embodiment of a leopard never changing its spots. 

Still, it wasn’t long before the talk got really crass and Neville had sought refuge in the wild garden outside lest he really knock out Ron’s front teeth. He wondered his way down to the garden gate and stood, absently picking the vines from a suffering Zinnia plant, its bright pink blossoms struggling to thrive. 

There were footsteps behind him on the path, too heavy to be Luna’s light foot. Harry wordlessly handed him a small cake with a hunk of white cake, rainbow sprinkles coating the sweet frosting in a riot of colours. He wore the little snake Luna gave him around his neck, running his fingertips along her slim body gently. Turned out that she was just as sassy and chatty as they’d thought and Harry adored her already. He had another plate of cake in his hand and he set in on top of one of the garden posts.

Neville worked his way through the cake, happy enough to stand in silence with his friend. Harry didn’t talk either, letting a comfortable silence fall between them.

Neville licked the last of the frosting and nibbled on some sprinkles. “You don’t have to apologize for Ron all the time. He’s a grown man and can pull his own foot out of his own swollen yob.”

“Yeah” Harry ducked his head in return. “It’s just that he…”

“… was your very first friend and even though he flip flopped in between wanting to be your friend and wanting to be you too many times to count, he still stuck by your side through tough times.” Neville finished almost nonchalantly as Harry gaped.

“You also feel guilty because you didn’t marry Ginny and he didn’t marry Hermione as you’d all thought you would. The Weasleys are the closest thing you have to a family and you don’t want to lose them so you ignore all the way Ron sticks up under you like a life time sycophant and Molly continuously shovels her hopes and dreams of red haired, green eyed grandchildren on your shoulders.”

“Fuck” Harry’s sounded gutted. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Neville frowned and turned to face him. “It was cruel of me. Come on. Let’s sit.”

He led Harry to a nearby bench and made him sit down. The brunet sighed and stared down at this empty plate.

“I’ve got some personal stuff going on and Ron was just about stomping on my last nerve. I was feeling especially frustrated and took it out on you. I’m sorry Harry. Really.”

“I could always count on you to tell me the truth Nev. It’s fine.” The other man said softly. Neville shook his head and looked at his friend askance.

“No. it’s really not.” He stared out unto the rolling green fields, not really seeing a thing. He took a deep, slow breath. “There’s being a good friend and there’s being an asshole. And I was way into asshole territory just now. Sure, Ron’s a fucking twat and we’ve all got issues from the war that we haven’t even begun to acknowledge as even being real. That doesn't give me leave to say what I said in the way I said it.”

“But it’s the truth though.” Harry chuckled bitterly, lost in thought. Neville just nodded silently.

“What’s the truth?” a voice came from behind them. 

Neville turned around and squinted into the afternoon sun at the figure standing at the garden gate. 

“Oh, Hey Hermione.” Harry grinned and popped up to grab the plae he’d balance on the fence. “I saved you some cake.”

The witch smiled. “Thanks Harry. Looks good.” she made herself comfortable on the small bench, making no move to go closer to the house. She made a face at the loud laughter that came from an open window but soon shrugged it off and dug into the cake.

Neville shared a brief glance with Harry, both remembering vividly the spectacular blow up between Hermione, Ron and a well-meaning but overbearing Molly. As far as he knew, the woman was still persona non grata within the Weasley Household. He felt a certain pity for Harry, caught in a tug of war between two of his best friends. 

It was a tight fit on the small wooden bench but they shuffled around until they were comfortable enough. It was certainly better that being inside right now, Neville thought, jaw clenching as he recalled some of the utter shite Ron had started spouting. 

“So, is this the VIP section or is the party that boring?” Hermione’s voice brought him back from wool gathering. “Why are two of my favoruite gents enjoying the fresh garden air and not inside getting smashed on fire whiskey?”

“Ron was being his usually twat self and Neville had to execute a hasty retreat before he socked him one across the jaw.” Harry said dryly, propping his chin against his hand.

“Neville Longbottom?” Hermione turned a surprised gaze to the taller brunet. “Resorting to Physical violence? Quel Scandale! What did ickle Ronniekins say to make our steadfast lion heart lose his proverbial shit? This I need to hear. Spill.”

Neville let his head hang down as he gave a rueful grin. “It isn’t important. I’m just out of sorts these days.”

“Ron was talking about Malfoy.” Harry was all too happy to snitch. “He wasn’t being particularly sensitive about it.”

Neville barked a harsh laugh. “Not particularly sensitive? He made a crappy joke about Draco living out the rest of his days as a vegetable in St. Mungo’s. He had met me before right? He knows of how I grew up and about my parents doesn’t he?” 

He was standing, pacing in front of the bench as he spoke.  
“And not to mention that Draco’s a magical exile. He wouldn’t even be able to be treated at St. Mungo’s in the first place. Fuck.”

Harry winced, as if he’d just made the connection. Hermione on the other hand was staring at Neville calmly. 

“So it’s Draco now? Not Malfoy? Not Prince?” she quirked an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t know that you’d been on a first name basis.”

Harry frowned. “Wait. What?”

Neville flushed and looked away. “We worked on a case together a while ago. Got to talking. He’s a decent chap nonce you get to know him.”

Harry scoffed. “He’s a slytherin.”

“He’s an adult person.” Neville glared and snapped, “… and so am I Potter. Maybe it’s about time you join us in growing the fuck up.”

Harry flushed hotly and clenched his jaw. Neville felt a pang of regret but he was just too fed up with the whole situation. 

“Maybe I should go. I’m just bringing everyone down.”

“No. Nev. Please stay.” Harry quickly stood, his hands spread in surrender. “I didn’t know that you knew him personally that’s all. I thought magicals weren’t allowed contact with exiles.”

“It doesn’t matter if they meet in the muggle world. The Ministry has no jurisdiction.” Hermione said matter of factly, glancing up at Neville. “You seem really concerned Nev. Is Prince well? Neither Bulstrode nor Zabini are letting any details slip. I’ve only heard a rumour of a rumour that he’s sequestered in a private clinic somewhere.”

“I don’t know anything either.” Neville shook his head, “I know that he was hit with a powerful spell and collapsed. There’s been no other news since then.”

“I’m sorry Nev.” Harry looked aghast, shaking his head in disgust. “Mate, there’s no love lost between Malfoy and I but no one deserves to be attacked like that when they can’t defend themselves. It’s deplorable when you really think about it.” 

He turned to Hermione who was concentrating on scraping the last of her frosting from the plate. “Is there any precedent for the DMLE to look into it? Maybe we can find something out.”

The witch bit her lip in contemplation before shaking her head ruefully, shrugging her shoulders. “We’d need to jump through too many hoops in order to get permission to even look into the matter. It’ll be up to the ICW to get to the bottom of this whole mess, unfortunately. Jurisdiction would be a nightmare.”

Harry frown deepened and he looked up at Neville with regret. “Sorry Nev. I could still ask around if you want.”

Neville shook his head with a small, grateful smile. “Thanks Harry but I don’t want you to get in trouble with your work over it. Zabini or Bulstrode will most likely let me know more than anything you could ever find out.” 

The flapping of wings above their heads stopped the conversation and made them all look up. The raven circled around before finding a perch on Neville’s head and hunkering down. The three of them laughed at the coldness of the bird. 

“I guess this really is my queue to go.” Neville chuckled, turning to see Luna exit the door and start wandering down the path towards them. “I don’t want to miss my ride.”

They all hugged their goodbyes, laughing as they promised to keep in better touch. He told them that he would be out of the country for another short while and reminded them that he was available by text message. 

As they were leaving, Hermione stopped him near the gate with a hand on his arm. She smiled up at him, her gaze searching his, and gave him a squeeze. “You’ll let me know how thing work out with Prince yeah? And I’ll let you know if I hear anything at the ministry. I hear a lot of things in that little department of mine.”

Neville placed his hand over hers and gave an answering squeeze. “Thanks Herms. I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.”

“Don’t mention it.” She gave his arm one last pat before letting her arms fall to her sides. “If Prince is important to you then it’s worth looking into to me. What else am I going to do in my tiny little office at Magical Civil Management?” 

Her eyes gleamed with a sharp eagerness that Neville could only describe as hungry and when she smiled, she looked like a lioness baring her teeth. Just then, in the warm sunny, summer afternoon, He felt a cold breeze shiver down his back. 

It passed barely a second later when Harry threw an arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “Yeah Mate, if anyone can find shit out it’s our girl Hermione. I’m surprised she isn’t secretly the head of Ministry Think Tank or something.”

The witch in question barked a bitter sounding laugh. “Yeah Harry… or something.” 

“I’ll keep an ear to the ground for you anyway.” She turned to Neville and went up on tip toe to press a kiss against his cheek. “It’s the least I could do for one of my best friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neville doesn't like lying as a whole but he knows Draco's safety depends on keeping his recovery a secret. from everyone. even his friends.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco wrapped the thick robe around his still damp body and tied it at the waist, the steam from the bath billowing out through the door way as he stepped into the large hotel suite. He scrubbed at his wet hair with a large embroidered towel, letting it hang around his shoulders as he pushed his feet into a pair of plush hotel slippers. 

It was mid-morning and the sun was bright in a blue cloudless sky as he padded over to the remains of his breakfast. He’d already eaten before taking his bath but he still felt a bit peckish.

Standing at the small table, he quickly smeared some cheese curd and honey on a small, still warm Brötchen or bread roll and nibbled on it as he poured his third cup of strong, hot kaffee. Grabbing the rest of the fresh fruit topped with cool yogurt, he wandered over to the floor to ceiling windows and looked down unto the hotel’s courtyard and park beyond. It was a beautiful view and frankly, one of the few he’d managed to witness so far. 

He’d been so busy these last few days he barely managed to see more than the inside of his hotel room or the dusty halls of the many government and library halls he’d been all but nesting in. That was why he needed this extra fuel. He had a long day ahead of him. Fortunately, there was a special reward for all of his effort and he could hardly wait. 

Neville was flying in to Berlin tonight and would be meeting Draco for dinner in the Hotel’s restaurant Blend. Draco had already made reservations and picked out an outfit. The latter of which he would vehemently deny for the rest of his days. Still, all gooey emotional mush aside, he’d missed the man in the past week despite being preoccupied with his research. He’d missed having someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to share his excitement and enthusiasm with.

The package that Shadowskull had given him on behalf of the Goblin Archive Grandmaster had been like a bomb dropped into Draco’s knowledge of the Spartak Valentyn Theft, completely derailing most of the pet theories and hypotheses he’d come up with over the years. Finding out that one of the Schwetz brothers had a secret child in Germany and the possibility that they child might still be alive or at least have some kind of knowledge about the great ruby caper had bowled Draco over utterly. 

He’d spent an hour on the floor of his apartment, carefully going through each document and photograph with an amazed joy and ravenous curiosity. The touch of the delicate paper under his fingertips, the smell of the ink, the rustle of old documents unseen by any other human eye. He catalogued it all in his genius mind and had tucked it all away like a treasure. By the time Blaise had gotten inpatient and had popped over to find him, he’d carefully packed up all the papers and had been sitting on his bed, grinning like a fool.

Alarmed, she’d quickly taken him to her mother where both women had clucked over him until the whole story of Shadowskull’s visit had tumbled out of him in a daze. Millicent had just rolled her eyes at him when she’d heard and shoved the portkey into his hands. Thankfully, he had all of his case documents on his laptop and didn’t have to lug around the huge file folders anymore. Those were safe in the Zabini Manor Library.

Sylviene Malfoy-Richeleu had greeted him warmly in Marseille, her family’s waterfront home splendid in the southern French sun. He’d had to put aside his research for a couple days as he had to attend several secret meetings with high ranking personnel from the International Confederation of Wizards. 

Between offers of magical sanctuary, discussions about his career path and opportunities as well as a few proposals for provocative business ventures, Draco had come away feeling both touched and invigorated.

He’d never put too much thought into living outside of Britain. Half out of his belief that the country was still his home and half out of spite that no one had the right to kick him the fuck out. He’d almost been afraid that if he left the UK that he might never go back and he’d been too determined to build a good life on the ruin of his old one to risk that. 

Being in France and meeting with the representatives of so many magical countries and communities had changed that. He had options, and now after all these years, he was finally finding himself open to them. Milli and the Zabinis were sure to be pleased.

When he was not behind warded doors, he was being wined and dined by the vast Malfoy-Richeleu clan. Sylviene’s family was a large one and they made a tour of visiting the various homes and estates spread across the country. It was a humbling experience for him and one he would never forget. It seemed that the entire English branch of the Malfoy line had been an anomaly. 

Strangely stilted and cut off from the rest of the family as a whole, much of the blame had been laid at the feet of Anthelme Mafloy, father of Abraxas, father of Lucius. In his wild youth, he fallen in love and eloped with a much older pure blood and sinfully divorced witch of the Famile Hervé. 

Turns out the Madame Hervé was of the traditionalist mindset and heavily disapproved of, at the time, ‘modern libertine magic’. She’d taken her young and adle-headed, albeit wealthy young husband and had moved him away from his family to England where she proceeded to build the Malfoy reputation amongst the magical community there. 

Most of the family had been sad to see poor Anthelme go, especially as a brow beaten husband to the formidable witch who’d become his wife; but there was no real loss felt. The boy had been a seventh son of a third daughter and had always been a bit of a ditz. Since then, the English Malfoys had always been looked upon as those poor crazy distant cousins that people talk about at family gatherings but were never invited to same.

Draco had been torn between utter mortification and near hysterical laughter at hearing this, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. In the end he’d just accepted that as far as the world was concerned, the Malfoy branch in Britain was no more and it was just another weird chapter in the history of the family. 

He’d enjoyed himself, meeting with cousins and aunts and uncles and great aunts and great uncles. Getting to know them and share stories. He’d eaten so much rich French food that he’d ask Sylviene for potions to settle his stomach. The fact that the family didn’t care about his exile surprised and touched him. To them, exile from Britain meant less than nothing and that he was blood and that was all that mattered. 

Several elders had offered him family sanctuary and connection to the family magical core and as flattered and humbled as he was by it all, it was a huge decision that he could not take lightly. It still made him feel good though. To know that they wanted him. Name or not. He still had family by blood.

By the time he was ready to take a flight to Berlin, his heart was full to bursting; warmed thoroughly through by the genuine offer of finding a magical home. He’d thanked Sylviene dearly and had promised to give the matter the thought and deliberation it was due.

Berlin was brisk and busy compared to the south of France and he checked into the Pullman Berlin Schweizerhof Hotel, dumping his bags in his room and heading out to a nearby restaurant to order a hearty bowl of Gulash mit Semmelknödel with additional Semmelknödel or bread dumplings and a pint of rich and dark Doppel Bock beer to wash it all down. Then he’d taken a leisurely stroll back to the hotel and slept like the dead for almost sixteen hours. 

Then, fresh and energized in both body and mind, he’d delved head first into the vast and often overwhelming labyrinth that was Berlin’s municipal archive of records. Somewhere in Germany had lived a little girl named Elfriede Günter- Schwetz. And Draco was going to find her. 

Calling in a favour from Sylviene, he was able to get in contact with the German Representative of the ICW, a wizard named Ludolf Von Essen. Von Essen was an older gentleman, rail thin and tall with a full head of dark brown hair and a full beard. He reminded Draco of a daddy long legs spider with his long, striding steps and sharp angled limbs. He was also an excellent bureaucrat who had been able to arrange Draco’s almost unlimited access to the Muggle Municipal records. 

He also agreed to take a look in the magical archives of the city and report any relevant findings. Draco was grateful for the assist. Trying to access the magical archive personally would have been flagged in too many magical databases and the ICW would have had to get involved. That would have directly affected the blond’s desire to stay under the radar.

He delved through countless town records, school records, census results, real estate records, hospital archives and coroner’s reports. He downloaded the German equivalent to UBER to his phone instead of renting a car, finding it easier and less stressful than navigating Berlin traffic as he travelled from one source to another. 

He would be deep in the archives, in the middle of cross referencing information when Neville would call. Draco would find himself smiling and setting aside his work, happy to connect with his lover. The brunet would always make him laugh in some way, sharing some anecdote or bemoaning having to deal with his grouchy Gran and whiskey soaked uncle. Draco in turn would tell him of what little progress he’d made but how he was still hopeful that one of the leads would pan out.

They would eventually sign off with soft, fond words and the warm feeling in his heart would linger for the rest of the day. He was still in a bit of denial over falling for the tattooed wizard but he was getting closer to acknowledging that the soppy, sappy feelings he got when thinking of Neville was something a lot like love. It would be a while before his heart and his brain cottoned on to the notion though so he remained content to take things at his own pace. Neville had already declared that he would wait on Draco and that was more of a comfort than he would readily admit.

Then, just the day before, all of his hard work and diligence had paid off in the discovery of a school certificate for one Elfriede Günter- Schwetz in a small town of Berus, near the French border. Signed by Mother Hiltraud Günter, no father given. She was of the right age group and fit many of the markers that he’d been able to glean from Wilhelm’s private papers.

He’d left the municpal building feeling triumphant, clutching the photocopies in his hands as he made his way back to his hotel. He’d met with Von Essen that night for a late dinner, both men sharing their findings in a small and out of the way café over Bratwurst with Spätzle or egg noodles on the side with braised red cabbage. They’d shared the same strong kaffee with some dark chocolate dipped Lebkuchen cookies, all the while comparing notes on what they’d discovered. 

It turned out that Wilhelm’s secret lover had been a muggle, which would have been a cause of great scandal within the great and noble house of Schwetz. So, he’d kept her a secret, buying a house for her in the small border town and sneaking off to see her whenever he could. Hiltraud Günter had been a small woman, thin boned and frail in health but old photos of her had shown her to be a great beauty. Letters to him were filled with spindly, flowery prose and promises of a happy future, dating back for at least five years before the great ruby caper. 

A small picture portrait of new mother and baby had been lovingly framed in a handmade pouch to prevent it from faded and had encased a small lock of soft blonde hair tied in a pale pink ribbon. After the robbery though, the letters stopped. Either Wilhelm ended up going to stay with his secret family or he wasn’t around anymore to get the letters. Urban legend told that most of the Schwetz brothers had horrible cursed deaths soon after the theft but the lack of evidence had made it hard to prove. As far as the world knew, then family had gotten away scott free and had lived happy and healthy lives, living off the spoils.

Von Essen had planned ahead, calling to the local government office in Berus and arranging for Draco to have access to the records there. Draco had been thankful and impressed by the man’s quick thinking and initiative. It was such a refreshing difference from the usual ministerial morons he’d normally encountered. They’d said good night and Draco had gone back to his room, mind swirling with information and excitement.

The excitement still lingered but now its cause was the soon to be arrival of his lover. He glanced as his phone, noting the time and quickly drained the last of his breakfast kaffee. If he timed it right, he would have just enough time to kip down to the local market and be back before Neville arrived. 

He tidied up the breakfast, placed the rolling cart outside for collection and strolled to the closet where housekeeping had hung his laundered and pressed clothes. Throwing on a pair of comfortable jeans, a grey turtleneck and some boots; he grabbed his charcoal coloured trench and pocketed his phone, wallet and keys. 

He had time to pick up some souvenirs for the ladies back home and maybe a trinket or two for himself. And a little something for Neville too. A little something special to make him feel really welcome. He’d seen some strawberry Spritzkuchen in a bakery nearby and he knew how much Neville loved the fruit. 

Nodding to himself and smiling, he checked his pockets once more before slipping out of the room and closing the door behind him with a soft click.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is long and is an emotional roller coaster. i couldn't find a place to end it so i just kept writing and writing.

Neville loved the cookies. Draco loved how the tart strawberry jam tasted on Neville’s tongue when they kissed afterwards. He hummed into it, running his hands up and down the brunet’s broad back; their chests pressed close enough to feel the beat of his lover’s heart against his own. There were steady hands on his hips, holding him almost too tight and he’d missed their touch keenly. 

“Somebody missed me didn’t they? I’m glad” Neville chuckled against his lips when they finally pulled apart. 

Draco scoffed and made to pull away, a hot denial on his lips but Neville reeled him back in for another scorching kiss. They tumbled to the bed, stripping quickly and clumsily, almost falling over each other in their haste. 

Draco cursed a blue streak, yanking off his jeans as he hopped on one foot to sit heavily on the bed. Neville, struggling with his own boot laces, yelled in triumph as he finally got the damned things off, over balanced and fell on his ass with a pained ‘oof’. 

Both men stared at each other in quiet shock for a few seconds before bursting into raucous laughter, clutching at their bellies and wiping away mock tears. That joy followed them to bed and had them giggling and snorting as they reacquainted themselves with each other’s bodies. The sex was different this time, relaxed, irreverent and unhurried as they touched and kissed and finally rocked together. It was good, it felt right and Draco marveled at the experience as his orgasm greeted him like a fond, old friend.

This was nothing like his experiences at Hogwarts. Nothing like the sex he’d had with Blaise and her partners for her sex magic research. This had been deep and powerful, his body and his magic thrumming as they panted through the afterglow.

“Wow” was all Neville could mutter as he blinked stupidly at the ceiling. “Just… Wow.”

“Yeah” Draco nodded weakly in agreement, riding out the trembles that still wracked his frame. “You said it, mate.”

They woke up the next morning feeling energized and ready for round two. This time Draco savoured the burn as he lowered himself unto his lover’s thick cock inch by delicious inch. Bracing himself against Neville’s chest, he rolled his pelvis deeply; his thigh muscles flexing as he moved. Neville moaned, throwing his head back against the bank of pillows as he thrust up into that tight, slick heat. 

His hands at Draco’s waist kept the blond steady as they rocked, letting them move against each other as the pleasure built. Draco threw his head back, his eyes falling closed as he let himself just feel. Neville was in him and all around him. The warmth of his skin, the smell of his musk, the soft words of love that he whimpered and moaned helplessly, the taste of his sweat salty skin. He couldn’t help but clench down, milking the hot and heavy cock as it pumped in and out of him.

He loved fucking and he loved being fucked. He’d always enjoyed sex and had learned through the years how to be really good at it. He was glad for all of that knowledge now because hearing the high pitched cry that fell from Neville’s mouth when he rolled his hips at a certain angle felt like sweet vindication.  
Bracing Draco’s lean frame carefully, Neville deftly flipped them so that the blond lay spread against the pillows, and leaned in for a sweet and searching kiss. Draco moaned into it, his legs coming up with wrap around his lover’s waist, his toes curling in pleasure as his heels dug into the brunet’s ass cheeks.

Neville buried his face his the blond’s neck, breathing raggedly as he fucked his lover slow and steady. He treasured every soft whimper his man uttered, every scrape made on his skin by dull but well-manicured nails. He loved the taste of the sweat that would pool in the blond’s sharp collar bone, simply adored the way his slim, toned body felt under his prowling hands. 

He treasured the way Draco would grunt sharply whenever Neville went balls deep, the way those rose pink nipples pebbled so beautifully under his tongue. He loved how the blond’s toned ass cheeks fit so perfectly in his spread hands, how his pale blond hair would darken with sweat and curl along the long line of his neck. 

Draco was a wonderful and intuitive lover, the best Neville had ever been with. And that was not just his emotions talking. The blond could open like a flower, letting Neville take command completely; or he could take Neville in hand, both literally and figuratively; and work him over good and proper, like a piece of meat. There were little things that he could do with his slim, skilled fingers and his wicked, wicked tongue that would make Neville scream and lose his goddamned mind. 

Neville had heard all about the sex clubs at Hogwarts. He’d heard a raunchy story or two in his time from students of other houses. Unfortunately, the Lion House as a whole had been derisive and judgmental of the whole idea and had been very vocal about their disapproval. That had resulted in the entire house being panned as a whole as stuck up prudes. The select few gryffs who had been secretly invited to the infamous rendezvous, more often than not, kept word of their participation silent.

Neville had mixed feelings about it all. On one hand he’d been a randy teenager just like the rest of them and wouldn’t have minded some sexual experimentation during his Hogwarts years. On the other hand he’d been a complete fucking wreck emotionally and was in no way prepared to navigate the crazy world of ‘Friends with Benefits’ amongst a population of hormonal teenagers.

His own sexual awakening had been at his own pace and he’d been infinitely grateful for the chance to come into his own naturally and free from peer pressure and the like. He wouldn’t go back and change any of it anyway, all of his paths and choices had led him here, to this moment and to this unique and extraordinary man in his arms.

He gasped a soft swear and quickened his pace, driving little breathy sighs from his lover as he writhed against the bed linens, his grey eyes half lidded and dark with desire as he stared up at the brunet. Neville’s heart was so full of love and amazement that he had no other choice than to claim the blond’s swollen lips in a deep and dirty kiss, both men moaning as he pressed in balls deep and held there for long seconds.

“Fuck” Draco whimpered as the kiss ended, arching his back and relaxing his pelvis into the mind stealing sensation of being so completely filled and claimed. He shuddered at the overwhelming feeling, his inner walls clenching helplessly as the hot, thick cock buried within him pulsed almost obscenely with every beat of his heart. “You feel so fucking good in me. You’re so fucking big. Goddess.”

He clenched his pale thighs and dug his heels into Neville’s pert buttocks, bracing his hands on tattooed arms as the larger man changed his angle and started fucking him in earnest. A chain of soft, cries slipped from his lips at each slap of skin against skin, jolts of pleasure travelling up his spine and travelling along his nerve endings. He felt like he was being touched by small bolts of magical lightning. 

His head spun as the universe narrowed down to the just him and the glorious man fucking him oh so good. A large, warm palm came up to fist his cock and it only took two, three good pumps and he was gone, wailing and arching up from the bed as his vision whited out, his lover cursing and pushing in so deep, soon joining him in ecstasy. 

Afterwards, they both lay boneless on the bed, gasping for breath and all but thrumming from the afterglow. Draco, still feeling as weak and trembling as a newborn lamb, slowly turned his head to look as his wrung out lover. Neville’s handsome face was open and unguarded, his brown eyes wide and full of emotion as he gave the blond a blissed out smile.

Sweet merciful Gaia, Draco mused to himself helplessly, how could he be falling for someone so fucking good and pure? Neville was an adorable cinnamon roll, entirely too good for this world. The man wore his heart on his sleeve and said what he meant. He was righteous, honourable and compassionate and he apparently saw something in Draco that made him fall in love with the blond. 

He had such a big heart that it boggled Draco’s mind that there was a place in there carved out just for him. If Neville’s declaration of love was to be believed, and surprisingly Draco found himself believing it, what kind of future did that guarantee them? For someone who had been taught to be skeptical of everyone since he was still a toddler; Draco found himself wanting to believe in the brunet’s naïve promise of forever.

The cold blooded cynic in him still doubted that this would work out. It argued that Neville was going to one day realize what a right asshole Draco was and call it quits. That Draco wouldn’t be able to help but push and push the ever patient Gryffindor until he shoved him passed his limit and break his good heart. That Draco would once again be left all alone, which was no more than he deserved.

What if Draco was a kind of poison that would kill everything good about this wonderful, brave, courageous and kind hearted man and turn him into the kind of cynical and bitter bastard that Draco had been raised to be. Was Draco even capable of loving someone forever? Would he eventually get bored and look for company outside the marriage bed? Would he one day end up in the kind of cold and loveless marriage his parents had been condemned too?

“Hey there, what are you thinking about?” A warm hand on his cheek made him look up to Neville’s concerned frown. “You look so sad all of a sudden. What’s wrong, love?”

Draco bit his lips, so many words at the tip of his tongue, pushing against each other to tumble from his lips if he parted them. He placed his hand over Neville’s and pressed his cheek against the open palm, squeezing his eyes shut for a second and took a deep breath.

“What if… What if I ruin you?” He opened his eyes and met Neville’s alarmed gaze. “I’m fucked up. I know I am. I know my parents were fucked up as well and they raised me to be exactly like them. Apparently the whole English branch of Malfoy was a fucking mess. I’m not a good person. I’m an asshole and a right bastard and I lie so easily and so constantly and I’m not above sticking knife into an enemy’s ribs or in their back if it gets me what it want.”

He shivered, feeling abruptly cold in the pale light of morning. “You’re just so fucking good. You’re a fucking war hero for fuck’s sake. You faced off against the Dark Lord and gutted his creepy snake with the fucking sword of Godric fucking Gryffindor like a fucking boss and never even tried to take advantage of your fame or anything.”

Draco sat up in the bed, clearly agitated as his voice grew steadily louder.

“You’re just so fucking good, its actually sickening sometimes. I can’t even fall back on my usual bastard tendencies with you. You have no fucking idea at some of the sick and fucked up mind games that are like instinct to me now. Do you even know how easy it would be for me to rip you apart with just a few words? You’re so fucking sincere all the time. You are such an open book I can’t even begin grasp what it’s like to live your entire life like that.”

He was breathing heavily at the end of it, the palms of his hands pressed to his stinging eyes. “What If I turn you into someone just like me? What if being with me causes you to lose yourself? I can’t be the responsible for that. I can’t bear the thought of it. I just can’t.”

The room was silent except for his harsh breathing, the quiet hanging heavy between them for a few moments as time itself seem to be holding its breath. Then, the bed sheets rustled and gentle hands reached for him. He was carefully drawn into his lover’s lap and pulled close to that broad chest. 

He went limp, mushing his face into Neville’s bare shoulder as he tried to slow his breathing. Hooking his arms around the brunet’s neck, he shifted closer, pressing skin to skin as if he could leech some of the man’s own natural warmth as if to ward off the utter chill he felt in his extremities.

There was a humming rumble deep in his lover’s chest as large hands ran soothingly up and down his back. Draco sniffled and then flushed hot with mortification, making a sound like a mix of a sigh and a sob. He closed his eyes tight against the bright light of the room and then, to his utter shame and dismay, he began to cry in earnest; hot stinging tears fell from his eyes and unto the tattooed skin beneath him.

“Oh no.” He gasped out, clutching tighter to the larger man as he began to tremble. It was just too fucking much for him to deal with. All of his emotions seemed to be coming to the surface, refusing to stay in the heavy iron boxes he’d locked them in. The numbness he’d had since the attack seemed to have been shattered apart and now he was caught in a maelstrom of their release.

A shudder wracked his lean frame and then another. Soon he was sobbing openly against his lover’s shoulder, seeking comfort in the man’s warm embrace. He could hear Neville murmuring soothing nonsense, could feel the rumbling in his chest. It anchored him, kept him from drifting off and getting lost in this turmoil. 

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, in the aftermath of their love making, but when he finally came back to full awareness; Neville was still humming softly and running comforting hands up and down his spine. He pressed his tear streaked face into his lover’s neck, sniffing as he gathered the courage to finally pull away. 

Neville’s face was calm and open, his hands gentle as he wiped at the tear tracks on the blond’s face. His voice was soft and carefully modulated. “Hey, are you hungry?”

Draco blinked, nonplussed. “Yeah” he nodded jerkily. “I could eat.”

“Okay.” Neville nodded back with a small, sweet smile. “I’ll order some room service for us. You go get cleaned up in the mean while. Yeah?” 

The blonde let himself be bundled into the bath, going through the motions of getting clean. The hot water felt wonderful, steady pressure on his head and along his shoulders shaking the tension loose and letting it fall away. He kept waiting for the mortification to appear, the self-loathing for breaking down so completely in front of another living human being. 

He’d never been that vulnerable to someone else. Even Severus. Even his parents. Even Blaise and Milli. The closest he’d ever gotten to that was during the blood legacy ceremony where he’d become the Prince Heir and Severus’ Legacy. He’d wept like an ickle baby after connecting to the deep magic of the ancient family line. He hadn’t even shown that much feeling when they’d broken his wand in front of him at Wizengamot and declared him exile.

He stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in the soft hotel robe and padded over the large bathroom mirror. His face looked pale and his skin washed out, his eyes red and puffy from the crying He stared at his reflection for a long time before reaching for the toothbrush. He wasn’t even upset, which was a surprise. He felt more drained than anything, the emotions that had been roiled up so ferociously seemed calmed to almost silence. 

He knew that this would not be the end of it. Doctors Thompson and Merigold had warned him that when his emotions came rolling back, that they would come back in increasing waves. He just had to watch out for the warning signs and deal with the episodes one at a time as they came.

Simple, really. Not. 

With all his ablutions complete, all that was left to do was face the man waiting on the other side of the door. It took a few more minutes to give himself a little pep talk. He felt humiliated that the other man had seen him in such a state but moreover he felt grateful that someone as caring and compassionate as Neville had been there for him throughout the whole thing. 

He opened the door and leaned against the doorway, watching as his lover sat at the small breakfast table, in naught but his rumpled boxer shorts, and doctored his kaffee with cream and honey. The blonde leaned his head against the doorway, just watching as the brunet sipped at the hot beverage, made a face and added some more honey. He smiled at the sight, feeling a warmth grow in his chest. 

He finally pushed away from the door and made his way across the room, stopping at his lover’s side. When the brunet looked up at him and smiled, Draco primly maneuvered himself into the larger man’s lap and stole a sip from his cup. 

“Mmm. Yum.” He murmured, looking over the brunch spread and then glancing shyly at Neville. “Thanks. For the food I mean. I love a good Wienerschnitzel.”

Neville wiggled his eyebrows salaciously. “I love me a good Wienerschnitzel too, if you know what I mean.”

Draco just rolled his eyes as the brunet chuckled at his own innuendo. He picked at his food, sniping off of Neville’s plate as he happily settled in his lap. The brunet didn’t seem to mind, content with reaching around the blond for whatever he needed. He piled his plate high with double portions, saying nothing as Draco continued to pick food from it instead of making his own.

They were working their way through slices of sweet, almond Stollen when Draco finally broached the subject. 

“I’m sorry for all the word vomit earlier. I didn’t mean to put it on you like that.” He bit his bit in a nervous tic that his father had always tried and failed to train out of him. “The Doctors back at the hospital warned me about this. Momentary Empathic Suppression Syndrome. As my mind recovered from the trauma from the attack, my psyche shunted off almost all of my emotions so that it could be dealt with later.”

He took another nibble of the cake like pastry. “It seems that my mind has decided that I’m well enough to deal with this shit now and it all but blindsided me this today. I just started feeling so much at once, it became overwhelming and I felt like I was drowning in self-doubt and fear.”

He pressed his forehead against Neville's temple and slung his arms around the man’s shoulders, taking a few slow breaths. The brunet’s hands immediately came up to rest around his waist and they gave him such a sense of comfort that he pressed a kiss to the stubbled cheek before him.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess but I’m also so glad that you were here with me through it all.” He placed a hand on Neville’s cheek and kissed him softy on the mouth. “I don’t know how you put up with me sometimes. I’m so contradictory.”

“What can I say…” The brown eyed man gave him a genuine and gently smile. “I like my BAE problematic.”

Draco barked a startled laugh, giving the muscular chest a weak slap. “Be serious you…”

“All jokes aside though.” Neville’s face turned serious as he stared into clear grey eyes. “I have to admit that I’ve been a bit worried about how unaffected you seemed by the attack. By the time I found out and flooed to Zabini Manor, you were already up and about, joking and laughing and being your charming self. There I was, freaking out in my head and you seemed so calm and collected. I figured that you’d done all of that in the days right after the attack. Both Zabini and Bultstrode seemed to have everything in hand and I didn’t want to pry into something so private.”

He shrugged his bare shoulders. “I figured that you would talk about it when you ready. I didn’t want to add my fear and worry on top of what you were already going through so I didn’t say anything.” He placed a finger over Draco’s lips when he tried to speak. “I’m okay now. I had a long talk with Luna and that helped me a lot.”

He traced a thumb gently along the blond’s mouth and along his jaw. “And I am glad that I could be here for you too. I don’t want you to ever have to go through something like that alone. I used to suffer from panic attacks as a kid. I would dream about my Uncle Algie dropping me out of a window at the manor to see if accidental magic would save me. Instead of bouncing to safety though… I would just keep falling and falling as my gran and uncle looked on and shook their heads. I couldn’t handle heights or even looking out from some of the higher windows at the house for years and years after that.”

The rest of his words were muffled as Draco pressed their mouths together, his slim fingers tangling in Neville’s hair as he kissed him almost desperately. Neville brought up a hand to rest against Draco’s neck in comfort, squeezing gently as the blond finally pulled back and pressed their foreheads together.

“So I know what it’s like to grow up fucked up. To be a product of my upbringing. I know what it’s like to build myself up as a person despite of all that.” Neville’s voice was soft and full of emotion. “You are not a poison Draco… no… wait… listen to me please. You spoke about ruining me. As if I were some pure and true innocent that you would stain with your touch. I’m not that. I’m not some symbol of virtue and honour to be placed up on some pedestal and worshipped from afar. I may be a good man but I’m only human. I make mistakes. I get angry. I have an awful temper and can wield a sharp comment or two myself. Frankly, I can be a real shit sometimes. Just ask Harry.”

Draco took the levity for what it intended. He rolled his eyes. “As if I would ask Potter the time of day.” 

“As I was saying… “Neville chuckled. “You want to say that I am good and that you are not. I say that it’s not as black and white as that. I thought you slytherins were all about the many shades of grey. So yeah, you may have grown up with certain mindsets ingrained. You may see certain courses of actions as more acceptable that other people would. But so do I. So do a ton of other people. Everyone had a different perspective. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you an individual and special and so fucking perfect in every way to me.”

“And no matter what the world tries to make you believe, Draco Lucian Prince, you are a good man. I see it in the way you treat the ladies in your life, the way you are so dedicated to your job, the way you are so good to Luna and the way you have this inextinguishable passion for learning and get so excited about solving a new puzzle. I know it to be the Merlin’s honest truth and I’m going to say it to you every fucking day until you believe me.” 

Draco’s eyes shone with barely restrained emotion as he sat, stunned at the words coming from the brunet’s mouth. They’d had been spoken so softly and so surely that they’d slipped right under all of Draco’s defenses and deflections and had nestled right next to his racing heart.

“Oh.” Draco breathed as he tried to collects his thoughts into some semblance of order. He carefully slid off of Neville’s lap and stood before him, letting his robe fall from his shoulders to the floor. As brown eyes widened, Draco held out his hand and waited. 

He let out a soft sigh as a calloused hand slipped his and he tugged the other man’s firm body to his. Neville was warm and fit so perfectly against him, his hands slipping around the blond’s waist as if they belonged there. 

“Come to bed.” He stepped backwards, both his body and his heart laid bare before his lover. Neville nodded shakily, slipping off his loose pants and stepping out of them to pull Draco in for a kiss that had them both moaning and half hard. Draco pulled back, looking up into that brown eyed gaze, so open and full of love and he felt truly humbled. 

In the end, there was no words to describe how he felt in that very moment. No way to tell Neville what his quiet words and faith meant to Draco. For once, the Malfoy silver tongue was silent and still. but that didn’t mean that he could show his care in other ways. He tugged Neville forward, both men falling unto the bed together, their bodies once again entwined in an intimate embrace.

He may not be able to tell him… but he could sure as hell show him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah... Draco is a bit of a M.E.S.S. . LOL. I made the condition up so please dont @ me.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. these chapters are getting longer and longer but i can't seem to cut them any shorter. i have to write while i am in the zone. I hope you enjoy this one. i cried writing it.

They spent the next two days in bed, sometimes talking, sometimes fucking, sometimes ordering room service and stuffing their faces. Draco had carefully broken down his recent discoveries, guiding Neville through his search for little Elfe Schwetz and his ideas of where they would go from there. 

In between these activities Draco would feel his heart start to race and his words would stutter to a halt. He would then find himself crying helplessly, screaming with rage or shivering, crouched in the corner of the room. 

Thank Merlin Neville had been there with a quick muffulato charm, several reparo spells and his endless patience. 

When the blond finally collapsed into an exhausted sleep, his lover was there to tuck him into bed and then, with a trembling hand, make the long distance call to Blaise. It had taken several calls to the Zabinis, Luna and the Doctors from Santa Brigita’s to keep him calmed and level headed through it all. Draco was dealing with enough as it was, Neville would be the one to stay strong through this.

M.E.S.S. was condition that manifested itself in different ways and even though Draco’s emotional spells seemed to be happening in alarming succession, the Doctors assured him that they were still in the normal limits. The episodes would eventually taper off as Draco’s mind worked on dealing with the trauma of it all. 

While Draco slept at his side in the bed, dead to the world, Neville had probably read through a book and a half worth of articles and medical papers emailed to him by their little support group. 

Between that and logging on to Vertex, the magical website run by the Creevey’s, he’s informed himself on the effects of trauma and the different ways of properly caring for someone suffering from it.

Draco’s episodes had tapered off a good bit, only blindsiding him once in a while with a crying jag or the shakes. He’d talked it over with Neville and had been surprised at how much research the man had put together on the subject. 

Neville had bashfully shown Draco all of the stuff he’d put together and the blond had felt both annoyed at the brunet talking to the others behind his back as well as deeply touched that he would go through all the trouble for Draco’s sake. In the end, his appreciation for Neville’s efforts had won out and he’d rewarded the man with a sweet lingering kiss and an expertly delivered blow job. 

The third day dawned bright after a night filled with fitful dreams and Draco was grateful for the entire pot of strong kaffee he’d had sent up. He’d never been much of a morning person but they had a full day ahead of them and he’d wanted to get an early start. 

They had a light breakfast and got ready, donning comfortable muggle clothes and walking boots. As Draco gathered all his documents together, Neville called down to room service and organized a picnic basket. 

Neville had made all of the travel arrangements, being unfairly judgmental to Draco’s liberal use of the German UBER app, so they took a scenic train heading out of the city that would take them to Berus. Von Essen had already arranged for a rental car to be made available to them at the station and that a local guide would be just a call away if they desired.

“Is that our ride?” Draco stared at the car in barely disguised disdain. It was a hatchback Trabant. Dusty orange in colour and rusting around the edges. “Probably rolled off the assembly line when Merlin was a boy. I’m going to get tetanus just from looking at it and die a horrible, painful and prolonged death.” 

Don’t be a snob Draco.” Neville rolled his eyes and walked passed him to open up the hatched back, placing the picnic basket in the trunk space. “We only need something to get us around town and it’s a perfectly serviceable vehicle. When in Rome and all that.”

“Rome has Lamborghini and Maserati. Not this…. ” Draco arched a thin, fair eyebrow and waved a hand towards the automobile. “They could have at least given us a Volkswagen. In this thing we could hit a pot hole and rattle apart. I didn’t survive all the shit in my life just to be killed in a horrible car crash. Blaise would never forgive me.”

Neville just gave a long suffering sigh and nudged the blond towards the car, smiling in sheepish thanks at the frowning car rental manager. Thankfully the old man did not speak a words of English and his smirking daughter who served as the clerk wasn’t about to translate this particular conversation.

With Draco as navigator and Neville behind the wheel, they made their way through the winding streets of the charming little city to its old library. The place had been a former castle and did triple duty as the local historical society and museum. 

Their local liaison, a witch named Magda, was waiting for them near the entrance. She was a stern looking older woman with grey at the temples. Tall and stocky with clear hazel eyes and a serious resting bitch face which transformed completely when she smiled or laughed. 

After brief and friendly introductions, she took them straight down to the old records room, helping them search manually through countless local hospital records and school files. By lunch time they were all exhausted but triumphant at the discovery of the address of the Günter home through some old land sale documents. 

Magda invited them over to her little flat for lunch and they ended up having homemade potato pancakes, sauerkraut with hot and delicious leberknödel soup while her five kneazels milled around lazily. 

Their afternoon efforts reaped better rewards. Records of one Elfriede Vogel neé Günter- Schwetz who’d briefly married when she was sixteen but was widowed tragically soon after before she even turned eighteen; her young husband dying in an unfortunate barn fire. 

With both her mother and father gone, one dying of cholera when she was a little girl and the other vanishing without a trace, she’d been young and a lone in the great big world. 

Hospital records had shown her in and out for various injuries, police reports had shown a life of domestic abuse by various men, petty thefts and vandalism. Prison files had her doing short stints in the local jail, never more than eight months at a time. There had been no more marriage certificates but they had found evidence of at least two miscarried children.

All in all, Elfriede had lived a sad and pain filled life. Draco had needed to excuse himself on more than one occasion to the bathroom to cry, sitting on the closed toilet and sobbing into his balled up scarf. Neville, thankfully, had known to give him his space, keeping Magda occupied and distracted. 

Later in life, Elfe had dropped out of the records and neither the prisons nor the census records had record of her. Then, after more than two decades off the grid, she surfaced briefly in a local hospice. That was the last they found of her and the point from which Draco would now begin. 

They decided to spend the night in the city, as it was getting dark by the time they’d emerged from the archives. Madga had offered a room at her place but Neville had politely declined, preferring to stay at one of the small hotels in town. 

She’d nodded, not offended at all and had directed them to one owned by a local squib couple. They’d thanked her and took the car back to the rental place. Draco was glad to see the thing go. He’d not enjoyed riding in the blasted rust bucket and had made Neville promise that he’d find a more suitable car next time. 

They took a stroll down to the shopping district, picking up a spare set of clothes and some toiletries. The overnight stay had been unplanned and most everything they owned was back in Berlin. They booked a room at the Ferienwohnung Familie Wirth, a charming little guest house with hand-made quilts on the bed and little rose shaped soaps in the bathrooms. It also had free wifi and they spent most of the evening updating the information on Draco’s laptop and working through the rest of the picnic baskets they’d brought with them.

Draco slept fitfully, his emotions still riled up from piecing together Elfe’s life. Several times during the night he would gasp awake, his face wet with tears or screaming bloody murder. Neville, having cast a silencing charm after the first nightmare, would hold him close; soothing him back to sleep by running through the calming exercises he’d learned from his research. 

The morning found the blond irritable and snappish, see sawing between moments of white hot rage followed by deep remorse for lashing out at the brunet. By the third time he’d done it, feeling cold at the quickly hidden flash of hurt in Neville’s eyes, he’d broken down and called Blaise. 

Locking himself in the bathroom, he’d slid down the door to sit on the thick mat. Shaking and gasping for breath, he dialed Blaise’s number and let her voice flow over him, calming his painfully exposed nerves. His world narrowed down to her voice as she rambled on about her day, bringing him up to speed on all the hot gossip from Rasputin’s VIP lounge, her sex magic research and the goings on at the cinema/café. 

By the time she’d run out of things to say and had just been reciting Italian poetry, he’d calmed down and felt much better. Thanking her profusely and promising to bring her back a lovely present, he said his goodbyes and ended the call.

He found Neville on the other side of the door, sitting against the wall and looking haunted. Draco crawled into his lap, hugging the brunet’s face to his chest as the man hugged him tight and shook.

The blond pressed butterfly kisses all over the larger man’s face and hair, whispering his apologies. There were dried tear tracks on Neville’s face and Draco felt like an utter heel for it.

“Forgive me.” He murmured against Neville’s ear. “Please, I’m so sorry.”

The brunet took a deep breath and lifted his face to Draco’s. He brought one of his hands up to cup the blond’s cheek, tilting his head down a bit so that he could claim his mouth. 

“I know that you didn’t mean it. It was just the M.E.S.S. talking.” He ran his thumb along Draco’s cheekbone. “My rational mind knows that but my stupid heart hasn’t gotten with the programme yet.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t talk yourself down.” Draco protested hotly. “Don’t try to make a joke of it to try to make me feel better. Don’t diminish your pain for mine. I won’t allow it.”

He touched his forehead to Neville’s and sighed. “You’re the one who’s been telling me that my feelings were valid and that I had to acknowledge them and let them run their course. That it was the only way to get through this. Now it’s time to take your own advice.”

“Looks like the student had become the master.” Neville’s smile was soft and genuine as he nodded. “You’re going to take care of me now huh?”

Draco nodded back, his face utterly serious and the word falling from his lips like an oath. “Yes. I am.”

Neville hitched a breath, his eyes going shiny as he pulled Draco down for an almost desperate kiss, his arms pulling the blond even closer. He buried his face in Draco’s neck, his broad shoulders trembling under the blond’s soothing touch.

“I’m sorry. I have to say it. I love you. You don’t have to respond but I just needed to say it out loud.” His voice was hushed but heavy with emotion and Draco flushed with warmth at the words. He nodded, running his fingers through Neville’s curls as he tried to find words. 

There had been no request for reciprocation. No demand or supplication. Neville just offered his love freely and unconditionally. The words bumped against the inside of Draco’s lips but he wouldn’t let them out. Not yet. His emotions were all over the place and he couldn’t trust them just yet. When things were settled, when he was back to his rational self. Maybe then he would be able to say those words back and mean them.

Picking themselves up, they both took turns in the small bathroom. It was early in the afternoon and they walked down the main roadway to a restaurant called Beruser Hof. The beer on tap was excellent and they were pleasantly surprised by the delicious flat bread pizza baked in a huge stone oven. They shared a chocolate filled crepe with vanilla ice cream for dessert and more beer.

Neville was able to get them a VW Jetta this time and they picked Magda up at her flat. The road to Paradies Altenheim [Paradise Nursing Home] was a long and winding one and Magda kept them entertained with hilarious stories of her time as a spy in the cold war. Draco was pretty sure that some of the more interesting tales were still covered under some Official Secrets Act but he wasn’t about to stop the woman from telling them.

Their sides were hurting from the laughter by the time they pulled up to the derelict looking building and Draco could feel his happiness fading away. The place looked like misery. Suddenly, Neville’s hand was in his and he looked up to see the other man smiling at him. The blond took a deep and fortifying breath and gave the hand in his a reassuring squeeze. 

The head nurse at the home was a tall and severe looking woman with a long thin neck and a face that reminded Draco of a horse. She never smiled and seemed to look down on them with barely disguised disdain.

Draco was a bit confused when Neville coughed awkwardly and asked if she was related to someone named Dursley, but he let the matter go; making a note to ask the other man about it later.

Getting things back on track, Magda made the request to search for any records for the name Elfriede Vogel neé Günter- Schwetz and to look through any possessions that she may have left behind.

“I have no choice in letting you check the records. My superiors already called and warned me about your visit.” The head nurse frowned even deeper, harsh lines creasing even deeper into her face. “But I absolutely cannot let you rifle through Ms. Vogel’s things without her permission. We hold respect for personal property in high esteem here at Paradise.”

Draco’s mind skipped like a jolted record. “Permission? How are we ever going to get that?”

The woman looked at him like he was the dumbest piece of lump she’d ever seen on a log. “Why? You can ask her of course.”

“She’s alive?” Neville gaped while Draco was still trying to parse through this revelation. “Is she here? Can we see her?” 

Nodding deeply, the nurse spun on her heel and strode down the corridor, leaving a stunned party behind to scramble to catch up to her. She led them to a room near the end of a long corridor and motioned them to go in.   
Draco had to pause and take a deep breath. On the other side of that closed and scratched blue door, was the only living link to the Schwetz family and the case of the stolen Spartak Valentyn.

He felt Neville’s hand on the small of his back and was grateful for the comfort and strength it gave. With a steady hand, she slowly pushed open the door and stepped into the room beyond.

“She can go any day now.” The nurse said softly as they all stood together just inside the room. “She came in here around thirty years ago. She had been infected with the Syphilis. Doctors didn’t think she would make it past a year but she kept holding on. Her medical insurance ran out fifteen years ago but local donations and government programs are just enough to cover her bills.”

She sniffed and folded her hands in front of her. “The disease ravage her body and has now spread to the brain. She may not even know that you are there. I doubt you will be able to get the permission you need.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Draco croaked out, his throat thick with sorrow. “None of that matters any more. Have arrangements been made for after she passes?”

The horse faced woman sniffed again and shrugged her thin shoulders. “The government grants a parcel for the unclaimed. Enough for cremation and storage.” 

Draco clapped a hand over his mouth, closing his eyes and leaning Into Neville’s warmth. Without hesitation, the brunet’s arms came up around him and held him close until he could compose himself enough to pull away. Without turning around, he spoke to the nurse. 

“I’ll pay for the burial. I’ll take care of everything. Magda? Can you see to getting the paperwork started?”

“Ja” The witch nodded and proceeded to herd the protesting nurse out of the room and away from them all. 

“Oh goddess, Nev.” He sobbed into his lover’s chest. “She’s been here for thirty years. Alone and sick with no one left to care if she lived for died in this hell hole.” 

He broke down completely, relying on Neville to keep him upright as he muffled his cried in the man’s thick jacket. They stood like that for a while, just holding on to each other in the midst of all that misery and hope abandoned. Then, when Draco had collected himself enough to go on, Neville had given him one last squeeze and silently stepped away. 

The figure on the bed was old and shrunken, like a figurine made from spun glass. The room around her was bare and depressing, hardly any light shining through the grates on the windows. Her hair was white and wispy and stuck up from her head like flyaway weeds. Her skin was paper thin and dotted with liver spots and veins that crept like dark spider webs. 

Her mouth was dark and her lips looked cracked and dry. Her eyes, once the same lovely colour as her mother’s, were sunken in and cloudy with glaucoma. In her gnarled and clawed hands, she held a small ragdoll. It was grungy and ragged, it’s once blond curls hung limp and almost fallen out. The button eyes were gone and the little dress, once pristine white and full of lace, was nothing but a bit of rag.

Draco had seen the doll before, in the picture of Wilhelm and his daughter. The letters had included her joy and receiving it for her birthday and how she’d promised to never lose it or sell it. Seemed like she’d kept her promise.

Carefully pulling up a chair and sitting so that he’d would be at her eye level, he gently took her hand in both of his. She twitched at the gently touch and her eyes cracked open, blinking lazily. 

“Elfe? Elfe Vogel” he asked softly, searching her shriveled face for some reaction. When he received none he tried a different tactic. “Elfriede Schwetz? 

That caught her attention and her milky eyes tracked towards him. 

“Papa?” her voice was like the rustle of old paper in the quiet of the room.  
He squeezed her hand oh so gently, tears coming to his eye unbidden.

“Hallo honigbiene.” [Hello,honeybee] he whispered, using Wilhelm’s favourite endearment from his letters. “Ich habe dich so lange gesucht. [I’ve been looking for you for so long].”

His heart ached keenly for the lonely little girl who’d been waiting for her father to come back to her for so many years. She’d lost both her parents too young and unlike Draco, who had family and friends to fall back on, she’d been alone and hurting in a world that had only used and abused her. It may have been just a puzzle to him, but it had been her life, as sad and tragic as it was. 

“[Ich bin gekommen, um dich nach Hause zu bringen, mein liebling. [I have come to take you home, my darling]” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her frail little hand. “Deine mutter wartet auf uns. [your mother is waiting for us]”

“Oh papa.” Her wrinkled old face crackled into a weak smile and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Her grip was surprisingly strong when she latched onto his hand and pressed the little ragdoll into it. “Ich habe es für dich sicher aufbewahrt. Ich habe mein Versprechen gehalten. [I kept it safe for you. I kept my promise].”

Draco blinked down at the doll and then up at the old woman who kept trying to weakly push the doll into his hands. Finally he gave her a wobbly smile and brought the doll up to his heart. “Danke, honigbiene. Ich bin so stolz auf dich, mein liebling mädchen [I am so proud of you, my darling girl.]”

He was still holding the doll when she breathed her last, her had going limp against the bed as her chest slowly stilled. He didn’t remember much after that, just flashes of light and disembodied voices.

He came back to himself on Magda’s couch, still holding the little doll against his heart while a huge caramel coloured kneazel purred loudly in his lap. Neville and Magda had been sitting and chatting at her little dinner table and they both came over when they saw him looking around in confusion.

The witch let him know promptly that Elfriede’s funeral arrangements had been taken care of and that she’d even found where her mother had been buried and secured the plot next to it. No one had ever discovered what had become of Wilhelm Schwetz so there was no way to reunite the little family, even in death. 

Neville made Draco drink some tea and Magda offered a calming draught but both men refused. Who knew what potions would do to his M.E.S.S. symptoms? 

They said their good byes soon after, trusting that Magda would do right by little Elfe and made their way back to Berlin. When they got back to the hotel, Neville had guided Draco into the shower, only after securing the little doll in the room’s safe to allay the blond’s anxieties. 

They showered together, donning the thick hotel robes and eating the hearty soup that room service had prepared. Then Draco let his lover pull him to bed, letting the man spoon against him, his arms holding the blond tight and pulling him close.

The room was dark and quiet, the noise of the city seemed far way and Draco let his mind drift, turning his thoughts over and over in the steel trap he called a brain. He could feel the puffs of Neville’s breath against his neck, the slow and steady rhythm of deep sleep. 

He felt safe, loved, and cared for. More importantly he didn’t feel alone. He was so very glad that Neville had been with him on this trip. Had been with him when he’d finally reached the end of his journey for the famous ruby and found a tragic tale of a little girl lost.

He don’t know what he would have done if he’d had to go through all of this alone. How he would have handled his fluctuating emotions or this unexpected turn to a journey he’d started so many years ago. For so long he’d been obsessed with the case, reading and researching and theorizing so many different answers. 

He’d come on this trip for an adventure, not really expecting any of his new leads to pan out. Solving the case would be icing on the cake, the thrill he got from following leads and testing his mettle against one of the greatest and best executed crimes of the last century. 

He’d been over the profiles of the suspected thieves to many times he could recite details from them by heart. He’d thought that he’d know Wilhelm Schwetz inside and out but it seemed now that he’d known hardly anything of worth. 

Who knew what the man had been thinking when he’d bid his secret child farewell for the last time? Did he know that he would never see her again or was he looking forward to coming home for good? The world would never really know and neither would Draco. 

As far as he was concerned, the journey was at an end. All of his hunger for an answer had left him at the sight of that frail old woman, lost so long ago and never found again. Her life had been more than just a gem heist, more than just a great mystery waiting to be solved by someone such as he. 

She was real and the mere fragility of her existence would echo in him for a long time to come. She was a person and the sum of her experiences had been all but swept away like so many others in the wake of the robbery. 

Almost the entire Ancient and Noble House of Schwetz had crumbled because of that damned ruby and it seemed like such a bitter waste. In a perfect world, little Elfe would have grown up into a fine young woman, secure in the love of both her parents. 

Draco sighed, taking a deep breath as he shifted closer into Neville’s embrace. The brunet snuffled sleepily against his neck and his arms tightened their hold. Draco let a small smile come across his face and relaxed into the hold. 

He was safe, he wasn’t alone. He had people who loved him and who were waiting for him back home. Keeping those thoughts in mind, he let himself drift off, finally falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up splitting up Hermione's just desserts into two chapters because some other things came up and this chapter was already getting too long. i'm enjoying it a whole bunch though. i've been researching revenge and listening to reddit/ revenge videos and those are frikkin' hilarious. this is part one. i'm hoping to get part two up by tomorrow. i don't want to rush and forget anything.

Blaise let her phone tumble out of her lax fingers and thump unto the bed with a sigh. She’d just come off the phone with Draco and was feeling a mix of emotions that would probably take a full chocolate cheesecake and a bottle of wine to fully parse through. 

The last few nights had been especially concerning. Between calls from an anxious Neville and an emotionally wrung out Draco, both men dealing in different ways with the aftermath of his M.E.S.S., and her own worries at not being able to physically comfort her best friend face to face; she felt utterly exhausted.

Her only motivation for getting up the last two of so days was her desire to see their revenge on Granger through to the end. She rolled off her bed with a groan, her stomach rumbling for sustenance as she shoved her feet into comfy bejeweled slippers and grabbed her phone, shoving it into the pocket of her slacks. 

She found her mother in her study, writing correspondence at her massive carved desk. It had been a gift from Lady Zabini’s third husband, as in, he’d bought it for himself and it had become hers after his untimely and seemingly accidental death. 

With a large leather chair that was heaven to curl up in and an ornate writing / desk set with gold trim and monogrammed with the Zabini family crest, because all of her many husbands readily agreed to take her noble family name upon marriage, it was a true seat of power and behind it, Viviana looked like a queen. Blaise liked the desk, it was large and sturdy and she could hop up to sit on the corner of it without her mother giving her the stink eye for being unladylike.

“Ciao Mamma” she chirped, leaning over to shamelessly peek at the half finished letter. “You’re writing to Augusta Longbottom? I thought you couldn’t stand the old hag.”

“True, that vecchia cagna is intolerable on a good day, figlio dei miei lombi [child of my lions]. “ Viviana gave her a half lidded stare before putting down her gold tipped quill. “Still, if this relationship with mi piccolo drago and his sweet lionheart progresses to the point where talk of a marriage contract becomes a possibility, then I must begin to lay the ground work for negations from even now.”

Blaise rolled her eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mammina. Draco doesn’t even know if he loves his gryffie as yet. I think marriage is a bit of a ways away.”

“Oh you think so, do you?” Her mother raised a thin, skeptical eyebrow. “I think that you are underestimating how much our boy already feels for Neville. A mother knows these things.”

She tapped a manicure finger against the side of her nose as Blaise scoffed.

“Besides, even if wedding bells are a long ways away, it’s better to open up communications now so that the old bag can get used to it. If we wait too long she might be suspicious of our timing when we finally do. I will not have delicate negotiations for my boy ruined because she hates Slytherins across the board.”

She tapped her nail on the parchment before her. “Neville may be of age and financially independent but she is still head of the House of Longbottom and can make life very difficult for him if she so chose.”

Blaise, nodded, deep in thought. That hadn’t even occurred to her. She leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “Thank Goddess we have you to look out for us, Mamma. You’re the best, really.”

“Grazi, mi tesoro. [Thank you, my darling]” Viviana flushed, sitting back in her chair with a pleased smile on her face. “I love you both so much. I want to both happy, even if it’s not with each other.”

Blaise laughed. “Si, you don’t have to burn the betrothal contract you drew up for me and Draco years ago just yet. You can still keep it in the family vault for now. If this thing with Longbottom doesn’t work out, Dray’s already agreed to marry me and give both families a few heirs in between us. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“Piccolo matto sfacciato [cheeky little brat].” Viviana poked her daughter in the side, giving her a mock frown as she shrieked and almost fell off her perch. “At least I know how to be prepared. Marriage is serious business.”

“Si, you should know.” Blaise smirked. “You’ve certainly made a profitable enterprise of it.”

She hopped off the desk and was around it before her mother could even shriek in outrage. Cackling, she scampered to the door and was halfway though before she spun to glance back at the scowling woman.

“Te amo anche, mamma. [love you too, mommy]” she chirped before running down the hall, a string of Italian cursing echoing behind her. 

She was in the middle of stuffing her face with juicy bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches and freshly squeezed orange juice provided by Mufty when her mother swanned into the sun room. She called for the house elf, settling herself across from Blaise and ordered tea and scones. Minutes later, Millicent stomped in, shedding her dark red coat and joining them at the table. 

After the teapot was drained, another ordered and the tiny cakes devoured; they settled down to business. Viviana pulled out her wand and activated the privacy wards inlaid into the iron and glass of the sun room, tucking it under her plate and picking up her teacup.

“So, how is my dragon doing?”

“He’s doing better. They are taking the train down to Rome.” Blaise finished chewing her biscuit and picked out another, her mother making a face as she spoke with her mouth full like a heathen. “He kept rambling about Maserati and schooling ignorant lions about true vehicular excellence. Neville took over soon after that and let me know that the episodes are getting few and far in between. By the time they make it back to England, our boy should be back to his old, acerbic bastard self.”

“Good” Her mother hummed. “He’s been through so much lately. He needs some time to relax and work things through.”

Millicent nodded, setting aside her empty cup and pulling out a small, thick notebook. It was a charmed, leather-bound think that she’d found in a small shop in Knocturn Alley, stuffed with parchment pages and little colour post it notes. Privacy and secrecy runes were burned into the supple leather and also encrypted the writing for anyone who wasn’t the owner.

This was the only evidence of their plan to deal with Granger and would be promptly dropped into an active volcano by Mufty when they were done. There would be no evidence of their conspiracy after the fact and they’d all worked very hard to keep it that way.

\----------------------------------------------------- 

Before leaving for France, the unholy tribunal of Millicent Bulstrode, Blaise Zabini and Lady Viviana Zabini, along with Sylviene Malfoy Richelieu , met in a secret room at the manor. Their initial plan had been simple. With Millicent taking copious notes, Lady Zabini had laid down the bare bones steps of their revenge.

Step 1: Feign Intimacy  
Step 2: Initiate Reconnaissance  
Step 3: Execute Vendetta  
Step 4: Maintain Anonymity  
Step 5: Move On

“The best revenge is a life well lived.” Viviana had waxed poetic, sipping from her tea because all secret conspiracies were to be dealt with stone cold sober. “But that’s kind of codswollop is for other people. For us, revenge is sweet, non-fattening, and best served cold.” 

“The art of Vendetta is still alive and well. Even if mostly amongst the older Houses.” Sylviene had nodded along. “Our vengeance must be swift and relentless. We must destroy her completely. There must be nothing left when we are done. We must break the bitch in every way.”

Blaise had blinked wide and adoring eyes at the blonde Magus. “Okay. I’m all for that. But we need to find out what her weakness it before we can exploit it to our advantage. Who knows what that could be?”

“All people as smart and ambitious as little Miss RIMA want three things. Money. Power. Glory.” Millicent sniffed. “What she wants more than anything in Glory. Public Glory. Forget working for the DoM and their air tight secrecy oaths. She wants the world to know that Potter’s BFF (Best Female Friend) and ‘Brightest Witch of her Age’ had finally lived up to her potential.”

“Potter and Weasely are famous for being in the Aurors, Potter himself will be reaping spoils from his ‘savior of the world’ thing for decades to come. She’s been stuck in a dead end at Magical Civil Management with her career going nowhere fast. She tried too much, too fast and had pushed at all the wrong buttons way too hard. All of the grand plans she had in Hogwarts have all fallen apart and it’s set her blood boiling.”

“RIMA?” Viviana raised a curious eyebrow.

“A term I heard while working with the muggles. Righteous Indignation Morally Ambiguous.” Millicent chuckled. “We needed a code name for the jumped up bitch and it seemed fitting. Better than JUB anyway.”

“That’s gold, Mills. I love it.” Blaise giggled and shook her head, her brunette curls tumbling over her shoulders. “But how do you know so much about her motivation?” 

“A Degree in Psychology at UNI as well as a lifetime of Slytherin lessons in knowing mine enemy. I also have able to recruit an army of spies from right under the bitch’s nose.” Millicent grinned a bit wickedly. “One word. SPEW”

Sylviene frowned. “Pardon, What the fuck is SPEW?”

“That’s fucking brilliant. Oh Merlin, the fucking irony.” Blaise barked a laugh at the two confused older women. “It’s something that RIMA came up with at Hogwarts. Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. She thought that she was championing for the rights of house elves but what she was really doing was badgering people breaking their elfish bonds and leaving the poor things out in the cold.”

“Quelle Horreur!” The blonde witch looked aghast. “Did she not know that there was already an authority for unhappy elves to apply too in cases of abuse? One properly equipped to deal with the trauma of bond breaking and the process of getting a house elf’s magic and mind back into normal.”

Millicent shook her head in disgust. “No such luck. She just decided one day that she knew best even though the whole school saw it as nothing more than a colossal joke. Even Potter tried to talk her out of it. She tried again when she got to the ministry and ended up with about 20 or so angry and bitter elves who’d been thrown out of their homes as a ‘kindness’.”

She poured herself another half cup of tea and helped herself to a dark chocolate biscuit, absently thanking Mufty who’d been standing nearby with a plate of treats and a look of utter horror on her little face. 

“They all ended up all banding together to open a little shop on Knockturn, selling their services to wizards who are too poor or too magically weak to take on a house elf full time. They pay a small fortune to a sorcerer to power a bonding stone every year so that they have a link to communal magic and don’t go insane.”

“Fuck” Blaise breathed, sharing looks of horror with the other women. “Didn’t she set anything up with the Ministry for them? Any kind of after care or job support?” 

“Not a thing.” Millicent scowled. “And boy are they pissed at her about it all. Hence, one army of beings with untraceable magic, ready and willing to spy on our little RIMA and gather information for us. All untraceable of course. I offered to pay them wages but they said that they would do it for free. They’ve even set up a rotation so that there is an elf watching her at all times. Vicious little things when you get them really mad.” 

“So, That is step 2 and step 1 covered. There are not much options on humans who are close to her. She keeps her friend circle pitifully small, Potter and Weasley… well not so much the weasel anymore. The Weaselette is more of a passing acquaintance and her co-workers in the MCM office hardly see her. The other Unspeakables are a definite no go and both Lovegood and Longbottom are to be kept out of this by Draco’s request.”

“What about her parents?” Vivianna asked but Millie shook her head.

“She had them obliviated and shipped off to Australia during the war to ‘protect’ them. After everything was said and done, she decided they were better off staying there with no memory of ever having a daughter.”

“Merde” Slyviene sneered. “This has been a pattern for her since school? How did this not send up red flags at the time or since then? The girl is practically a serial offender.”

Blaise shrugged. “Dumbledore held a lot of sway back then. Besides, she was the brains of the Golden Trio. She could do no wrong by association.”

“Disgraceful.” The blonde’s lip curled. “So what’s the plan to bring this chatte down?” 

“That, my dear… lies in the bait.” Millicent’s grin was evil incarnate. “You see, we are not going to destroy her. If anything ever leads back to us we’ll be in hot water up to our eyeballs. Targeting an active Unspeakable is still nigh treason here in the UK. No… She’s going to be her own undoing and it’s going to be sweet as fuck to bear witness to it.”

So… the plan was as such.

Granger was many things, both good and bad. But her biggest flaw was that she was arrogant. It was her true and unwavering belief that she was smarter than anyone in the room at any given time. 

Still, a lot of people were arrogant. It was practically a staple of being a good slytherin and in no way did she corner the market on it. 

The thing was that Granger was arrogant without experience, she was clever without being cunning, conceited and disdainful of anyone else that she deemed mentally inferior and so cocksure that she woulc never be outsmarted.

Years of being the smartest one amongst her small circle of friends, being the one that Harry Bloody Potter- Magic’s Saviour, turned to when he needed help, had built up her self-importance to gargantuan levels and it had never been reigned in. 

Even with her plans for the revolution of the magical world, to be guided by her knowing and benevolent guidance of course, now circling the drain of bureaucratic death, her induction into the ranks of the unspeakable had bolstered her flagging ego and kept it inflated. 

Added to that her evident triumph that she’d gotten away ‘scott free’ with attacking Draco - the infamous magical exile, she was practically beaming with pride. Fortunately for the secret conspirators, her inability to share and lay public claim to her actions were a sticking point for her. 

No one would ever know what she’d done. No one would ever rest laurels on her head or cheer for her in the streets. No one would ever award her for her efforts with the Department of Ministries. Even if they were to publish her findings, DoM kept all research anonymous and she would most likely be long dead before the statute of secrecy wore out.

That arrogance would prove to be her downfall and they were going to use her two best friends to do it.

Step 4- Maintain Anonymity was paramount. They could never be traced back to this or implicated in it. Everything would have to be handled through third parties and proxies. Mainly Granger’s own arrogance would be the catalyst for it all. First there was the bait. The juicy, sweet honey to line the trap.

The dangling carrot came in the form of an ancient and obscure spell that the Weasel would ‘discover’ in one of the numerous Auror raids. In response to a hot rumour of a dark ritual at the old Nott residence, the DMLE would search the house from top to bottom. 

The Weasel would ‘find’ a secret room, warded to all get out. He would then call in his brother Bill, who was the Ministry liaison with the Ministry for Gringotts Bank and expert rune breaker. Inside the tiny room, they would ‘discover’ a set of old stone slats carved with ancient symbols. The Weasel was sure to tell Potter who in turn would waste no time in letting his brilliant bestie in on the hot gossip about the amazing find. 

Granger, ever ravenous for knowledge, would demand to be included in the translation of the artifacts and would soon discover the power they really held. This was where the real temptation lay and would ensure that the trap was well and truly snapped. 

Because, on those innocuous and simple looking stone slats, was the secret to true resurrection of the dead. Without them become zombies or inferni of some other horrifying golem. It was the holy grail of the magical world and the darkest of arcane magics. Granger would not be able to resist knowing more and then she would be sunk, lock stock and barrel.

What she did not know was that the slats were all but useless for anything other than paperweights and had been sourced from an excavation in China some two hundred years ago. The author of said carvings had been warlock of the royal Chinese court who’d been forced to do the awful research by the then emperor who’d lost his wife and son to illness. The poor warlock had been kept prisoner and tortured until he could come up with a spell that could bring them back to life.

He’d died before the ritual could ever be perfected and more than 100 magic users had died in the course of trying to complete the spell successfully. In the end, the heartsick emperor had ordered the stones cast away and buried in a deep cave. 

More than a century later, a goblin expedition from Gringott’s had been digging in the earth and had come across the stones. Knowing them for the useless pieces of junk that they were, they found immense pleasure in convincing the stupid human wizards that they were worth a great deal. 

They’d eventually passed from private collection to private collection, finally being confiscated by the ICW and used as coasters in the office of one of its senior officers before finally being stored away in one of the basement storage areas when the office was reassigned and redecorated. Hardly anyone knew the story anymore and it was easy enough for Sylviene to fudge a couple of manifests and take them for herself. 

Granger of course would see them as authentic, armed with the potential to bring the dead back to life. With her blind arrogance and her obsession with knowledge; she would be able to resist. She would do all the work for them.

Back in the warm afternoon light of the sunroom, Millicent made a few notes in her little leather bound book. “My source at the Ministry has confirmed that the slats were logged into evidence then conscripted by the DoM by the next morning. We can’t confirm that RIMA is on the case by the house elves have reported that she’s been staying on work almost non-stop since then, hardly ever going home. That’s a good enough confirmation for me. If she’s not in charge of the research then she must still be involved in some way.”

“How do we know that she will take the bait?” Viviana frowned. “Gathering intelligence inside the DoM is nigh impossible. How will we tell if our plan has worked?”

“We’ve thought of all of that.” Blaise clapped in excitement. “One of the reasons we chose the slat option was that the spell dictates that the gathering of certain ingredients must be done under certain astronomical conditions. And those conditions just happen to be all in alignment tonight. We really caught a break with that on. Lady Magic must be smiling down on us. If she doesn’t do the spell tonight, it will be three more years until she will be able to do it again.”

“And we all know that she won’t stand having to wait that long.” Millicent sneered. “She will have to do it tonight and set the whole thing in motion. After that, we will just have to sit back and watch her house burn down around her. Figuratively, of course.”

Blaise pouted. “Millie said that actually burning her house down would be too blatant a move and would draw too much attention. Such a pity. I wanted to roast marshmallows and make chocolate s’mores. Draco taught me all about them and I want to see if they are as good as he has said.”

“Poor ickle baby.” Millicent chuckled and patted her back in commiseration. “Maybe next time we ruin someone’s life we can set their house on fire and make s’mores. You never how… it could happen.”

Viviana laughed, light and happy as her daughter stuck her tongue out at her friend. “Si, let’s save the house burning for when our Dragon comes back. Then he can teach us all how to make these sum-mor-es, yes? They sound delizioso.”

The two girls laughed and agreed, ordering another pot of tea and plates of biscuits. There was much gossip to share and many plans to make.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the long awaited part 2 of the revenge. I struggled with writing this and getting what i wanted across using POVs. i finally got something going that i liked. i hope it checks all the boxes that people have been waiting for and is as satisfying as they wanted it to be. hope you enjoy.
> 
> ++++++++++++++++++++ 
> 
> WARNING: GRAVE DESECRATION
> 
> DoM - Department of Mysteries  
> RIMA - Righteously Indignant, Morally Ambigious  
> DMLE - Department of Magical Law Enforcement
> 
> +++++++++++++++++++++ 
> 
> Edited for Typos. let me know if you guys see any i missed. thanks.

From the outside that plan seemed convoluted, almost Ravenclaw levels of complicated. It wasn’t just enough to have Granger just nibble on the line then slip away, no, they had to snare the bitch completely, hook, line and sinker. And to do that they had to challenge her mentally, physically, magically. They had to set a near impossible task and watch her beat herself bloody to achieve it.

The muggle born bitch wasn’t one to desire something easily obtained. From her days at Hogwarts, straight up to her work with the Unspeakables, Granger wasn’t one to take the easy route. She needed a puzzle to solve, a challenge to overcome. She need to know that she’d solved a problem that no one else could.

She had to prove to everyone that she truly was the smartest witch of her age.

Millicent had been correct in her psychological assessment, it had all boiled down in the end to Glory. Granger wanted the world to finally realize how truly brilliant she was. She wanted… needed… no, she craved recognition and acclaim, and it was that craving that would be her undoing.

The wickedly sweet irony of the situation was that, as complicated as it was, none of it would truly be set in motion if she chose not to pursue it. The whole labyrinthine construct would topple like a house of cards if the witch decided to just take a moment to sit back and think. Thank Merlin Granger had more book sense than common sense and also had an ego the size of the moon.

The stone slats were just the beginning, the first domino standing there so innocently. The ritual held within them were a challenge to translate but laughingly simple once you were able to understand. It was almost too good to be true and a cautious mind would be wary of the bold promises made, but Granger was not cautious, not when the rewards seemed so tempting.

The timeline forced her hand. The rare astrological event that the ritual required was hours away and if she didn’t strike while the iron was hot, she would have to wait more than three years to try again. That was unacceptable to the impatient witch. Three whole years. Not a chance.

Most of the ingredients were easy to attain through her contacts at the DoM. She was an Unspeakable and requesting assorted odd and rare ingredients was common place, especially among the research teams. The last ingredient though would prove to be the most problematic. Dumbledore wasn’t close enough emotionally and the Potters were too long dead. Hedwig’s body had been incinerated with Hagrid’s bike so that just left Dobby.

Luckily, she knew exactly where the house elf was buried. Shell Cottage. Former home of Bill and Fleur Weasley. The deserted house on a stretch of sad and lonely coastline was still Weasely property though was hardly used anymore. Sometimes, Harry would talk about spending the weekend there when life got truly hectic and he needed to get away from the world. But those times were few and far in between.

Dobby’s gravestone had grown some moss which glittered in the light of her Lumos spell. The rare planetary alignment and rapidly closing window to the complete the spell was a mere few hours away. Tugging her large cloak closer to her body against the chill wind coming off the sea, she glanced around at the dark and bleak shore line once more. The only sounds were the crashing of the waves and the crunch of her boots against the sandy soil. There was no moon and the place was pitch black to the point where she could only see as far ahead of her as wand light allowed.

Excavating the body was the work of a few simple wand flicks, the pale white bones and ragged strips of old pillow case cloth that swaddled them, gleaming in the pale light. She had to jump down into the hole to clear the last of the dirt by hand. The spell wouldn’t be as strong if the bones were touched by too much magic beforehand.

She was grateful to be wearing thick gloves as she carefully brushed the dirt away, extracting the bones she needed carefully and setting them on the lip of the hole. She needed bones from the hands, feet, ribs and teeth for the spell and had to get pretty handy with a set of pliers to get the job done.

  
Setting a circle of floating lights, she checked the sky and started pulling the other ingredients out of her voluminous cloak right on the soft sandy soil next to the grave. It was time to begin. After laying everything out in the pattern described, she pulled a roll of parchment from her pocket and began the first of four incantations needed.

She was halfway through the third incantation, her voice almost shouting as the wind picked up and the waved thundered against the beach, when the hairs rose on the back of her neck. She whipped around, wand in hand but still chanting and came face to face with a startled and angry Harry Potter. He was dressed in full auror battle armor, staring at her in a mix of disbelief and betrayal, his gaze flickering from her to the ritual circle to the excavated grave.

“Hermione, what…?”

She had to act quickly. She couldn’t stop chanting, that would ruin everything. The whole spell would fall apart and this all would have been for nothing. No one was supposed to find out about this until after, most of all Harry. He wouldn’t understand and she didn’t have time to stop and explain. There was no other choice.

She sent a wordless stunner at him, knocking him back a couple of paced and surprising him. That gave her chance to whip a powerful, silent, obliviate at him, putting him on his ass in the sand, a dazed look in his eyes. It was only because of her friendship with him that she was able to get a leg up on him. Harry was a crack shot Auror and a powerful wizard, but he was always a soft touch when it came to his friends because he trusted and loved them deeply.

She didn’t want to lose that trust and love. He was one of her only true friends left and she didn’t want to let that go for anything. In fact, he was the main reason that she was doing all of this in the first place. He’d lost so much in life and if she could bring back just one thing for him then everything would be all right.

Keeping an eye on her best friend as he sat, dazed and looking around stupidly, she continued with the fourth incantation. The wind was whipping up high and the waves were deafening. The magic felt thick in the air and seemed to make the world wobble around her. The bones at the centre of the circle were glowing white and a high pitched screaming filled the air. The magic was thick, choking her and making her teeth rattle in her mouth. She tossed aside the parchment and grabbed up the heavy blood crystal that had been soaking in all of the gathering power, lifting it high above her head as she prepared to smash it down on the rattling bones.

She screamed the last line, her voice fighting with the loud screaming coming from the brightly lit circle. The magic was so thick now, it felt like she was under water, that her body was made of lead. She started bringing the stone down, aiming for the bones when a spell hit her full in the chest, sending her flying backward and knocking the breath from her lungs as she skidded along the sand and came to a stop.

Her ribbed felt bruised, maybe even broken as she gasped and cried out. The blood crystal had flown from her hand, shattering upon the soft sand, the magic draining from it unto the cold earth. Her eyesight swam, growing dark as she blinked up at the night sky. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was Ron Weasley’s angry face, the tip of his wand pointing at her and glowing a dangerous red. He was yelling something at her, his lips were moving but she couldn’t hear a word.

She had enough wherewithal to roll her eyes at him and mumble. “Oh, for fuck’s sake Weasley.” before blacking out.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The magical backlash from the interrupted spell had been too powerful for the DoM to even begin to cover up. Shell cottage had been all but demolished in the shockwave. Dobby’s grave marker had shattered like brittle glass and the rest of his remains had been scattered across the country side. Within the hour, the place was crawling with Aurors, the black cloaks of Unspeakables here or there amongst the sea of dragon’s blood red. Weasley was debriefing with both Bones and Croaker while Granger was in custody. Potter was taken straight to the memory ward at St. Mungo’s.

Apparently Harry had set up his own personal wards at Dobby’s grave after one to many thrill seekers had vandalized it, trying to take some kind of souvenir. He’d been in the office late with Ron when the wards had gone off. He’d told Ron about it and apparated away, annoyed to high heavens that someone had once again sought to disturb his friend’s final resting place. Ron had promised to follow along after a few minutes, as he’d been in the midst of finishing up a report. Besides, Shell Cottage was family property and vandals often hit the house as well, breaking windows and painting graffiti.

He’d gotten there just in time to find Harry spelled and dazed on the sand, a cloaked figure in the middle of a dark ritual. Poor Dobby had been dug up and his remains used in dark magic. He’d just reacted, stopping the ritual and throwing himself over Harry when the backlash occurred. Afterwards, he gone to secure the perpetrator and had discovered Hermione instead. To say that he’d been surprised was an understatement. He’d immediately called for backup.

By dawn the Daily prophet and countless other news publications had picked up the story and run with it. By midmorning the international papers had picked up on it and found easy sources within the ministry. It seemed that Hermione Granger had rubbed a lot of people the wrong way for a long time and they were all too glad to see her taken down a peg.

POTTER GAL PAL CAUGHT IN DARK MAGIC RITUAL

  
HERO OF WIZARDING WORLD TURNED GRAVE ROBBER

  
MUGGLEBORN DABBLES WITH DEATH MAGIC – TRIES TO RAISE DEAD HOUSE ELF

  
BOY WHO LIVED ATTACKED BY BEST FRIEND – STUNNED AND OBLIVIATED

  
AUROR POTTER REFUSES TO PRESS CHARGES AGAINST FORMER BEST FRIEND

  
GRANGER FIRED FROM JOB MINISTRY- LEAVES IN DISGRACE

  
SHATTERED LOYALTIES - IS THE GOLDEN TRIO WELL AND TRULY BROKEN?

 

The fires storm that followed would have wide and long term consequences and would send ripples through the wizarding world for years to come. Granger was released from custody and publicly dismissed from her job in Magical Civil Service, facing public humiliation as she was asked to clear her desk and leave the building under escort.

Harry, after receiving the needed treatment and being released from St. Mungo’s, had retreated to the Weasley home in Ottery St. Catchpole and hadn’t been heard from publicly except through Ministry issued press releases. Ron though, had a lot to say and gave interviews freely.

Oddly enough, the scandal wasn’t enough for Granger to lose her post with the Unspeakables. In fact, her grave robbing and dabbling in dark magic were barely a blip on the scale of what went on at the depths of the DoM. She was still welcome amongst the ranks as Crow, though she had gotten a stern talking too from Croaker. The loss of her dead end ministry job was negligible, she didn’t really care about it anyway.

What concerned her more was the fact that Harry wasn’t talking to her. He wouldn’t answer her calls, her messages, her owls. He didn’t use his muggle cell phone often, preferring magical means of communication. WIFI was all but nonexistent in the magical community of Ottery st. Catchpole and all of her whatsapps went undelivered.

The Weasleys were a solid wall of indignant resistance, not even giving her a chance to explain fully why she’d even tried to do what she did. If only she could talk to him face to face, she would make him understand. It had all been for him. To give him back something that had been taken from hi too soon. If only he’d let her talk to him.

Thank Merlin her apartment was in the muggle world and unplottable because the flood of angry letters, howlers and death threats that came her way had overwhelmed her PO Box. She would show them though. The ritual had been just the beginning. She had a plan to redeem herself in the eyes of the wizarding world and her best friends. The information of the slats had opened up so many new trains of thought and she’d already made several discreet inquiries with some less than respectable parties.

Things were a bit hairy, granted, but it was nothing that she couldn’t reason her way out of. All she had to do was pull it off and she would not only be back in Harry’s good graces but she would be the darling of the wizarding world, both in the United Kingdom and abroad. All she needed was a bit of information and one more chance.

She had this, she could do this. She was Hermione Fucking Granger dammit. The brightest fucking witch of her fucking age.

She spent more time that ever in the depths of the secret archives, forgoing going home and just sleeping fitfully in the small barracks used by whoever needed to crash for the night. She called in every favour she could in order to gain access to Goblin records but was turned down at every turn. In fact, all access to goblin knowledge had been revoked for the near future and it had the entire department scratching its collective head.

She finally caught a break when she made a stop at her apartment for a change of clothes and toiletries and found a house elf crouching in the shadow of her stoop. It was an older elf, its face withered with age and its little tunic grungy from too many washes. It took her a second to recognize its face and she relaxed, letting her white knuckled grip on her wand go lax.

She gently ushered it inside, listening as it explained that since being part of her SPEW campaign with the Ministry, its life had been changed forever and that it just wanted to return the favour with the same good intent that had driven her own actions. She’d been oddly proud at hearing this from one of the House elves she’d managed to get set free. The campaign had been a hard fought one and in the end, had been shut down by crotchety old wizards who couldn’t see important progress it had promised.

The fucking ‘old guard’ as they were called. A bunch of ignoramuses who would hold on to the past with their dying breaths. She would show them. When it all worked out for her, she would have the wizarding world around her finger. They would all but beg her to run the entire show.

She’d convince Harry to take over the DMLE, letting Bones retire so that she take her place as the head of Wizengamot. Kingsley Shacklebolt would take Hermione on as assistant minister before eventually stepping down and making way for her to be promoted. It would take a few years but she was content to wait. It would give her time to dig into the clockworks of the Ministry and begin to nudge things to her liking.

With Harry backing her, Ron and the Weaselys throwing in their support and the power and influence of her ties with the DoM, she would be able to guide the magical community down the path that she determined was best. Progress was long in coming and it was her dream to see the backward thinking society pulled into the future, kicking and screaming. Compared to other nations, Magical Britain was practically still in the dark ages and she would be the one heralded in the annals of time as bringing wizarding Britain into the modern age.

The house elf, Bobbin, was very solicitous in his words; bowing low as he pushed a small parcel of papers tied with a leather thong. The papers were old, very old; brittle and falling apart as she handled them one by one. Bobbin explained, in his waspy and wavering voice, that the other house elves she’d been able to free had been concerned about her after all of the recent headlines and wanted to help her get what she deserved in any way they could.

She tried to thank him but he refused, saying that he just wanted to do for her what she’d done for them. He popped away, leaving her in the dark of her empty apartment, her heart all but racing with excitement. This was the last piece of the puzzle. The last bit of information she needed to make everything right. When Harry found out what she’d done, the miracle she’d been able to accomplish, he’d forgiver her in a second. She just had to see this through.

She immediately took the papers back to the DoM, determinedly pouring over them and all but mainlining coffee and pepper up potions throughout the night and next day. The papers were, on the surface, the mad ravings of an old hermit sorceress who’d lived in a decrepit old castle and had dedicated her life to just one thing. Bringing her murdered young lover back from the dead. He’d been an aspiring young scholar, bright eyed, bushy tailed and so very eager to see the magical world advance. He’d been caught dabbling with some forbidden and arcane magics and had been sentenced to death by the ruling council of the day.

They’d determined that mere death was too uncertain after all of the deep and ancient magic that the man had tried to invoke and had wanted to make sure that whatever he’d stirred up stayed with him. As she’d watched, screaming a crying, they made the young man walk through the veil between worlds, disappearing forever. For the rest of her life, the witch had made it her one goal to bring her lost lover back to her. She’d also started with the stone slats, building her experiments upon the ritual she’d translated.

She died before achieving success, a bitter and heartbroken woman whose estate had been broken up and sold off at auction. The slats had eventually fallen into the hands of the ICW but the important papers, the foundation of the final ritual, had been squirreled away by her faithful house elf and kept safe by her elf kin for generations since; fulfilling her mistress’s final request.

The papers, though jumbled and hard to make sense of easily, proved a gold mine to the smartest witch in a generation. This was it. Everything she needed to pull off the greatest miracle of magic in a millennium. She finally knew how to pull someone, body and soul from behind the veil. Granted, the spell’s range was a narrow one, the requirements very specific but if it could be proven to work, the avenues of magical study and research it would open up would be world changing.

The papers told of a secret room in the abandoned castle, hidden away by layers of wards even as the estate changed hands many times before being finally abandoned to decay. She memorized the instructions, using a copying charm to overlay the intricate plans unto more sturdy paper. It destroyed the originals in the process which angered her but she consoled herself with the knowledge that the end would justify her means.

She quickly gathered what she needed, raiding the storage lockers at eh DoM liberally. She cleaned up her traces as much as she could, knowing that when she’d returned triumphant that it wouldn’t matter if she’d ‘borrowed’ a thing or two. Since the ritual with Dobby’s bones had been interrupted, she’d had to bolster the final spell with something even stronger. Something with strong ties to both Harry and her objective.

Now that she’d lost access to Dobby’s bones and most other candidates were either too long dead or not emotionally charged. That left only one other viable option though she was uncertain how his lycanthropy would affect the outcome of the spell. Still, Remus Lupin had been the last member of the Marauders and the last of Harry’s pseudo father figures to survive. His recent death and close emotional bond with the Boy-Who-Lived made him an excellent choice.

The problem was that he’d been buried, along with his wife Nymphodora Tonks in the Black Family cemetery. Even though Andromeda Tonk nee Black had been struck from the family tree for marrying a muggle and her daughter, by lineage, had not been recognized as a Black either; It had been a special arrangement made by Harry himself as the new head of the Ancient and Noble House.

Getting into the grave yard proved problematic. It was heavily warded and on unplottable land. Through her friendship with Harry and the knowledge she’d gathered from her visits to his various properties over the years, she was able to use her skills as an Unspeakable to break the wards and access the grave. The downside was that she would have to move quickly as the shattering of the wards would surely send up red flags with Harry and he would be there at any minute to investigate.

Casting a quick point me, she hurried to the grave and upon confirming the final resting place of Remus and his wife, cast a powerful Bombarda at the grave cover. The massive stone slab was blasted apart, hitting her shield spell and scattering across the small cemetery. She banished most of the dirt, saving a small jar of the death soaked soil. The magical coffins were rotting but still mostly intact and the intricately carved wood splintered with a loud series of cracks.

Lupin was withered and shrunken on himself, a product at the amount of trauma the lycanthrope virus had wreaked over his physical body throughout his life. His skin was thin and hung on his skeleton, his hair matted with dirt and sliding off his skull. The fine suit he was buried in was well preserved and had been pulled from the Black Vault along with the ornate dress Tonks had been buried in.

Harvesting the bones she needed was grizzly work and she was sloppy in her haste. Poor Remus’ skull was hit with another Bombarda, shattering and allowing her to gather the teeth she needed. His ribs, fingers and feet came away with a few slicing charms and sickening moist crunching noises. She heard the crack of apparition and bolted, whipping a few choice spells behind her as a distraction until she reached the end of the property and could portkey away.

She came back to her small apartment, breathing hard as she slumped to the floor. She was drenched in sweat and covered in rotting bodily fluids but there was no time to lose. She cast a quick cleansing charm on herself, grabbed the ready bag that she’d prepared before and pulled out another portkey just as someone started rattling her door knob.

She appeared on rocky ground, crying out as she tumbled and twisted her ankle. She was some distance from the crumbling castle, only the foundations and some of the ramparts still upright. She cast a quick episkey and a numbing charm on her foot and made her way to the ruin. The copied description of the path guided her to a standing stone wall and with some quick thinking and deduction, she was able to find her way into the secret chamber.

She halted in the doorway as a familiar chill crept over her. The room was empty and dark, no dust or cobweb in sight. At the far corner there was a dim grey light that flickered. It was the same grey light that flickered in the death room at the ministry. She stepped closer, her wand tip lit with a soft Lumos charm.

At the very end of the room stood a carved stone arch, eight feet in diameter, free standing and covered in line upon line of an ancient language. She recognized the symbols as Coptic and grinned savagely. It may have been a dead language but that hadn’t stopped Hermione Granger from taking a summer course in it while in France with her parents that one time.

Wasting no more time, she unpacked her materials and set up the ritual once again. It was similar to the stone slat spell, being the basis upon which this ritual was built, so she was able to get everything together quickly. The stone arch flickered eerily, seeming to go on forever if you looked through, despite being almost flush with the solid stone wall behind it.

The space within the arch seemed to move, as dizzying and unnerving as an optical illusion and she found herself not being able to look directly at it for more than a few moments at a time. A few times she’d blink, finding herself dangerously close to the stone archway, whispers of ethereal voices seeming to come from within the dark circle.

She shook herself to clear her head and started the ritual. Tonight would be the night that would change the wizarding world forever. Tonight would make all of her efforts worth it. She was sure of it down to very core. The incantations were longer and more difficult to get straight but she wasn’t a fucking genius for nothing. After a couple of faltering tries she finally got the hang of it, putting more and more of her energy and magic into it as each chant stared anew.

The wind coming off the archway was picking up, chilling her to the bone and she was grateful that she’d slipped on her Unspeakable Cloak before she came. The pale grey light of the arch was growing, bits of icy blue starting to creep along the edges. The cold was creeping into her lungs but she kept up the steady chanting.

It felt like hours had passed, the bones at her feet glowing dim in the heavy shadows of the room. A second bloodstone, taken from the private collection of the Head of the DoM, looking like a dying fire. The grave soil, which she’d shook out into a pile near the vessel of virgin’s tears was turning white and flaking away like ash as it magic was leeched from it.

Her body ached, her eyes stung, her heartbeat slowing and growing painful. She didn’t care about any of that. The ritual had already warned her of the side effects. It was nothing she couldn’t handle surely. The shadows seemed to gather behind the archway, the grey and blue light wobbling violently. A loud moaning could be heard through the veil, a pained and awful sounding wail. She kept up the chanting, bolstered by the fact that it was surely working as it should.

Light lit up the carved words on the stone arch, glimmering beautifully as the magic in the room got immensely heavy. It was time. she picked up the blood stone and smashed it unto the bones, the resulting magical explosion all but vaporizing the two and sending a cloud of dust right to the corners of the enclosed space. She was protected by her cloak, holding her arm across her face and squeezing her eyes shut so that dust would not get into them. Magic sparked along the ritual lines, sitting crouched and ready like some kind of predator stalking its prey.

She scrambled to grab a piece of cloth that had been laying nearby, unfolding it to reveal a long sleeved jumper with a big S on it. It had been gifted by Molly Weasley during the year of the Dog Father and was one of Harry’s most prized possessions. She’d been able to snatch it while he was at the Weasleys, having never taken her off the wards of the renovated number 12 Grimauld Place.  
She held the cloth high and faced the arch way.

“Oh sacred magics of old…” she shouted, “I call upon Anubis. I call upon Thanatos. I call upon Hel and upon Mictēcacihuātl. Pantheon of Death. Hear me and obey…”

A gong rang in her ears and she could barely hear the blast of the door behind her being blasted open. Twisting her head, she could see both Harry and Ron piling into the room, their faces white with fear. She could faintly hear them screaming her name but she couldn’t stop now. She was so close. Just a little more and it would be done, at last.

“I call upon thee to return unto a body and soul, whole and unharmed, mind and heart. I command thee with sacrifice of blood and bone, of magic and of pain…”

Harry was screaming her name louder now as both men fought against the raging winds to get closer to her. There was a thump and a cry as Harry fell and Ron yelled his name but she dared not look around.

“Give unto me Sirius Orin Black, Son of Arcturus and Walbruga. Bring him unto me as he came to you. His mind and body restored, his magic replenished. Take him from the sands of time… from the depths of the realm of the Dead and bring him forth to me.”

She could hear Ron yelling, as he struggled his way closer to her, reaching his arm out to grab her. She needed to finish this.

“Sirius Orion Black, come forth and return to the realm of the living, with breath in your lungs and blood in your heart. Return to me hale and whole, magic restored and sanity intact.”

She could just feel the brushing of Ron’s finger tips on her cloak and screamed, striking her wand through the ritual lines and releasing the pent up power. “By the power of Love and magic… I command thee now.”

The world exploded, flinging her back and into Ron’s sturdy form. The both of them hit the opposite wall with a hard thump and slip down into a pile of the floor. Her ears rung and her brain felt like it was melting. Her body screamed with agony as wispy grey threads started to steal across her eyesight. She could feel more than hear Ron groaning underneath her as trembling hands touched her face.

“Hermione?” Harry voice was shaking as he tried to brace her aching head. “Why would you do this? Oh Merlin Why?

His tears felt hot against her paling skin and she could only blink up at him, her eyes clouding over with grey. The nice boy above her was crying and he seemed to know her. She wondered absently what was making him so sad.

“It couldn’t be done. Not even with the Stone. I tried, Mione, I tried but Death himself told me that it couldn’t be done. Why did you do it? Why Hermione... why?”

She tried to frown but couldn’t seem to move her face other than a small tic in her pale cheek. She wanted to comfort the strange boy. Wanted to give him a hug. He sounded very sad and she didn’t like when people were sad. When she was sad her parents would give her a big hug and a kiss to make her feel all better.

“Hermione talk to me… Hermione… say something please …. Hermione!”

She wondered absently where her mummy was. She wanted a hug. Her whole body was full of owies and she needed hugsies wugsies and kissywibbles from her mumsy and daddums. She felt like crying. She felt cold. The nice sad boy was still touching her face, so softly, so gently. She wondered if he gave great hugsies wugsies and Kissywibbles. He looked kind enough.

She was getting really cold now. And the place was getting dark. The nice boy’s soft voice was getting softer and she strained to hear it. She felt heavy like she was floating and sinking at the same time. it felt weird and she was feeling scared. It was so cold now. So very cold and she felt so alone.

She wanted her mummy and daddy to come get her.

She wanted the nice and sad boy to come back.

She wanted…..

So cold. So dark.

She… wanted….

She…

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

From the shadowed corner of the room, the old house elf Bobbin wrapped the two way magical mirror into and old pillow case and popped away, appearing on the high cliff overlooking the castle’s ruins. He carefully handed the mirror over, bowing with a wide skull splitting grin, then popped away.

Blaise handed the mirror over to her companion and looked down at the ruins with a sigh. She tugged her winter coat closer around her body as she wind off the nearby lake was colder than Morgana’s frigid tits.

“It’s done.”

Terry Boot stepped up beside her, looking down at the chaos below, scores upon scores of Aurors apparating in, the cracks sounding like popping candy on the tongue. He gave a small, impish smile.

“Yes… and what a show.”

“Thanks, Terrible.” She glanced across at him leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “We’re very grateful for your help in setting this up.”

“The Consortium prides itself on being able to satisfy their clients’ needs.” The blonde nodded, “Besides, Draco is very dear to me and I don’t take kindly to people trying to hurt those I care about.”

Bored of watching the DMLE run around like headless chickens below them, he waved at the luxury car that sat idling nearby, the heater turned up to battle the night’s chill.

“We’ll be able to provide a recording of it all of course. That is one of the special perks of the mirrors. It doesn’t work as good as a pensieve but you can watch it over and over again like a muggle DVD.”

Blaise smiled and clapped her hands. “Wonderful. I’m sure Draco will appreciate having it.”

The blond paused, “How is he though? We haven’t heard much except he's somewhere in Europe.”

“You’ve heard more than most.” She raised an eyebrow. “Most people still think that he’s recovering in a private clinic somewhere.”

“Ah.” Boot nodded once and got into the car. “I won’t be able to have the archway secured and brought back to the Manor anytime soon though. We’ll have to wait a few months before the DoM give up on trying to move it and try to ward it. We can easily take it back then.”

The brunette shrugged. “We knew that here was a risk of losing it. It was just too good of a hook to pass up.”

“Granger's such a fucking dumbass. By the power of Love and magic… I command thee now? ” He scoffed, navigate the dark country road expertly. "You got that shit straight from Sailor Moon didn’t you?”

Blaise just laughed and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck this got long. 5800+ words. I was tempted to cut in and do a third chapter but i decided ...nah, just go for it.
> 
> I hope that was able to document Hermione's spiral into madness well enough. i shared the plot with a friend who is an avid of the books and she actually got upset at what i did to the golden trio. i took that as proof that i had done my job well. LOL. 
> 
> I posted as soon as i was done to please forgive any typos.  
> I'll edit after i get some sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Smut ahead. 
> 
> Whelp. I've reached the end of this story but it is by no means the end of the journey for our Fave Slytherin and his Lion Hearted Lover. i have ideas... so many ideas but those will have to wait. i've neglected a lot of other stuff to get this out and done so i' will have to concentrate on other things for a while.
> 
> thank you to everyone who has stuck with me, from even the first RT where all i had was "Draco Malfoy CSI with sexy Neville" as my plot. i did not have a clue what i was doing but it all worked out in the end. 
> 
> i tried to wrap up loose ends bu leave others open for a next part. i hope you enjoy it as much as i do. 
> 
> laters.

Draco kissed a trail of feather light kisses down his lover's back, his hands caressing the broad expanse of Neville's back and sides. The man under him was firm and his skin warm from sleep, his muscles flexing under the blond's soothing touch.

The mid-afternoon Italian sun shone through the floor length window curtains, warming the cool room. The heavy scent of florals hung in the air, the many gardens around the hotel were in full bloom. Ceiling fans spun slowly and the whole world felt sweet and slow like honey. 

The room was quiet, the hotel was tucked away on the hills overlooking the city and far away from the busy, noisy streets of Rome. The only sounds were the trickling of the fountain in the piazza below and the sweet strains of birdsong.

The soft whup whup whup of the ceiling fans were like the beat of a heart, providing a rhythm that seemed to be composed of the squeaking of the vintage gold bed frame and the whispered moans and curses falling helplessly from Neville's lips. 

Draco hummed along Neville's skin, savouring the salt taste of his sweat as he ran his hands along the brunet's flanks. He couldn't seem to get enough of his lover, wanting nothing more than to worship the gorgeous body below him for hours on end. 

His MESS episodes had all but dropped away and he wasn't susceptible to crying jags or rage-filled tantrums anymore as his emotions evened out. He still wasn’t back to the place he was before, where he'd kept his feelings and private thoughts tightly controlled to all but a very few. He still felt things intensely, as if his emotions had relished being free from their prison and rebelled against going back to the box he'd kept them in for so long.

It was kind of trippy and he would find himself smiling at silly things or laughing freely at something he'd heard or read. He found himself enjoying being touched casually by his lover and enjoyed touching him in return. A hand at the small of his back. Knees pressed together under a table. Walking through city streets, fingers intertwined.

It was terrifying and oh so freeing at the same time and he sometimes had to excuse himself for a while so that he could work things through on his own. Neville would make himself scarce, letting Draco have was he needed and the blond felt an odd twist in his heart at the consideration and care shown. Whenever the brunet wandered back from his walkabout, Draco would drag him to bed and show him how much he appreciated the kindness.

They'd made their way from Berlin to Austria, spending a lovely weekend having a lot of sex at a lodge in the mountains as well as taking a tour of the VonTrappe home from the Sound of Music. 

Neville had dragged Draco on a hike to the famous spot of the title song and had belted out a warbly and frankly awful version of the tune. Draco had laughed himself red in the face until Neville had tackled him to the grass and kissed him stupid. They would have fucked right then and there if not for the tour group almost stumbling upon them.

Next stop was Rome via muggle airplane. Draco had promised Neville that they would see it and he was a man who kept his promises. Well, the ones he made to his nearest and dearest. He was a Slytherin after all. 

They'd booked a suite at a small but well recommended hotel owned by the Zabini family and spent the next few days being tourists and eating way too much rich food. Good thing that both Neville and Draco were potions masters and could whip up a remedy for acid reflux in no time.

Neville made a sleepy noise, wriggling on the crisp white sheets as the blonde dipped his tongue in the dimples just above his ass. The brunet squirmed on the sheets, arching his back and spreading his legs just enough for the blond to get a glimpse of that pink rosebud.

Draco groaned at the sight, licking into the cleft at the top of his lover's arse crack before biting gently into the firm globes below. His lover was well fit and seeing that tanned body spread out for him on cool white sheets made Draco's cock throb almost painfully.

He loved sex. He loved fucking and being fucked. Usually he was the one doing the fucking as it gave him more control over his own body and his emotions. He also enjoyed being fucked but that had been rare and only with people he knew well. 

With Neville, it had been so easy to fall into the pattern of being fucked oh so good. Neville was a cock smith of the highest order and Draco had found himself coming harder from their sex than he'd ever had with anyone else, often reaching the heights of ecstasy with his own cock untouched. 

The brunet was an observant lover and all too soon knew how to fuck Draco just so to have him screaming or even sobbing from pleasure. His gentle hands, his wicked mouth, his heavy cock; it was like they were made by magic herself just to melt the blond's brain and spine.

Still, as much as he loved riding Neville's thick shaft like there was no tomorrow, he also loved sucking and fucking the brunet until he flopped, wrecked against the pillows; his broad muscled chest heaving as he panted. Draco loved to sprawl across him then, hot and sticky from their lovemaking; and kiss the larger man. 

Neville would never fail to put his hands on the blond, holding him close and steady as they both trembled through the afterglow. It made Draco feel safe and loved and he would find himself blinking away the sting of tears. The brunet was so caring, so considerate and gave his love so freely that it made Draco feel raw and vulnerable inside. 

It scared him so fucking much, but at the same time he dreaded losing it or letting it go. He still wasn't sure what he felt but it was as close to something like love that he'd ever experienced. Part of him wished that he could talk to either Blaise or Millicent face to face about this but he couldn't rely on them to tell him what to feel in his own heart.

In the end, he alone had to decide what he really wanted.

Neville's arse seemed carved by the god's themselves and were firm under his palms. He spread the cheeks gently, letting his breath ghost over the rosy pink pucker and grinned as his lover let out a whimper and bucked up slightly. Pressing down gently, he secured Neville's hips to the bed and blew directly unto the quivering hole. 

The brunet buried his face in his pillow and squeaked, squirming against the sheets but not getting very far because of Draco's hold. The muscles in his back and massive thighs flexed, his golden brown skin looking so delicious spread out before the blond like that.

He ducked down, swiping a hot tongue over the ring of muscle and had to press down harder as Neville bucked like a skittish horse. He looked up to where the large man was panting heavily into his poor strangled pillow.

"You've never had anyone go down on you like this?" he pressed a soothing kiss along the cleft of his lover's arse cheek and across the tops of this thighs. Neville shuddered, shaking his head to the negative and looking over his shoulder. His brown eyes were blown wide and his cheeks were a ruddy pink. He looked utterly ravishing that Draco had to reach down and grip the base of his own cock.

"Merciful Gaia." he choked, taking a few breaths to calm down. Bright blue eyes met rich brown ones and he grinned. "I'm going to make this so good for you baby. Hold on to something. This is going to get wild."

Neville froze like a deer in headlight before nodding jerkily and turning back, his hand reaching up to grip the gold bed head. Draco chuckled to himself as he spread those beautiful arse cheeks and dived in once again, licking and sucking around the clenching ring. He stiffened his tongue and breached the tight ring, thankful that Neville had cast a silencing charm earlier that day because the man practically wailed, rocking the entire bed head and making it knock against the wall.

The larger man arched his back beautifully, bringing him to the perfect angle for Draco to really go to town. Neville cursed, shrill and loud and continuous, his legs trembling and his toes curling as Draco ate his ass out like a pro. 

And he was, Hogwarts had been such a wonderful sexual playground for the blonde and the skills he'd learned from his time there had proven valuable in more ways than one. he'd not only held confidence that he was a fantastic lay, but that confidence had transferred into other areas of his life. 

He expertly maneuvered his lover unto his back, pressing one palm to the brunet's tones stomach while sucking on his middle finger and pressing it into Neville's clenching hole up to the knuckle. The larger man kenned, his hands finding purchase on the bed head once again as he pulled his legs up and spread them wantonly. 

Draco had to take a breath. His lover looked a feast, ready and waiting for the blond to devour. His hair was slick with sweat and curling on his forehead and around his ears. His skin was flushed, all the way down to his chest and stomach. The soft patch of chest hair across his pecks thinned down to a happy trail that led to a next of dark pubes, his thick cock jutting from it, an angry red. Thin pearls of pre-cum dribbled from the slit, forming a kind of necklace down the shaft.

Draco wasted no time in ducking down and licking a hot stripe up the shaft, making the organ twitch and squirt another droplet of pre-cum. Licking his lips and looking up to meet his lover's wide eyes, he took the thick cock into his hot mouth and worked his way down the shaft. He bobbed steadily, sucking and swallowing with every up and down. 

Neville shook, breathing heavily as a steady stream of 'fuck fuck shit shit fuck' fell from his bite swollen lips. Draco swallowed deep, pushing past his gag reflex as he added a second slick finger and curled them. The brunet bucked, crying out as his eyes rolled in his head. 

Draco fisted the base of the shaft, squeezing and twisting as he sucked and teased the sensitive mushroom head. He ran his tongue down the vein that bulged along the underside and up to the weeping slit, adding a third finger and working them deeper. With the constant onslaught on his prostate and the tight, wet heat on his cock, it took Neville a matter of minutes before he was tensing and whimpering out a warning. 

Draco hummed and swallowed him to the root, the first few pulses hitting the back of his throat before he pulled back and let the rest quirt into his open mouth. Neville clenched around his fingers, going stiff for a few electric moments before collapsing boneless unto the bed. Draco licked his lips, milking the last droplets of cum from the fluttering cock slit and sucking the head clean. 

He still had his fingers in his lover's ass and continued to stretch the ring of muscle. Neville hummed, floating on endorphins as he writhed on the intrusion. He let out a string of soft, breathy sighs, rocking his pelvis unto Draco's hand. 

When he was stretched enough to Draco's licking, the blond retrieved the bottle of lube and slicked himself up. Wiping his mouth on the bed sheet and swilling red wine from a bottle they'd opened the night before, he bent over his lover and claimed his mouth in a hungry kiss. They both moaned into it, Draco tucking himself between Neville's thick thighs and lining himself up. 

Sinking into that heat was like deliverance and Draco had to squeeze the base of his cock to stop from coming right then and there. Neville's hole gripped him, his hot inside pulsing against Draco in time with his heartbeat. Neville's eyes rolled in his head, turning his face to bite the pillow as Draco began to move. Quick shallow thrusts at first, working his way deeper and deeper until he was fully sheathed. He pressed in, causing them both to groan as Neville adjusted to his length. 

They didn't do this often because Neville preferred topping and Draco loved that thick cock in his ass; but the brunette appreciated being fucked now and again and Draco loved to make the other man lose his mind from pleasure. He ran his hands down his lover's trembling body, soothing him as one would a skittish horse and letting him relax around him. Neville's breathing even out and deepened as he began to rock his pelvis to meet the blond's thrusts. 

Soft little gasping noises fell from his lips as they moved together, Draco bracing himself on Neville's pecs and changing his angle. The brunette cried out sharply, his once flagging cock now standing upright and bobbing as Draco fucked him up the bed. Draco bent over, sucking at one of the large, pebbled grown nipples as his fingers teased the other mercilessly. 

Neville wrapped his legs around the blond's waist, cross his feet at the ankles and arched his back slightly off the bed. This opened up his pelvis and he whined softly as Draco pressed in and stayed there for long minutes, connecting them both in the most intimate of ways.

The blond leaned down for another kiss, snapping his hips forward; picking up the pace and fucking in earnest now. Neville gasped through the kiss, turned on completely at the sound of flesh smacking against flesh and the obscene noise that really good and hard fucking made. 

His hands were will gripping the bed head in a wide knuckled grip and he was grateful for the anchor to hold unto because he was sure that his brains were about to melt out of his ears. He was one fire, his blood pulsing in his veins as his heart thudded in his chest. Words escaped him, all he could remember was "Please", "Fuck" and "Draco", repeated and in random order. 

There was a burning in the bottom of his gut, a slow heat growing and growing as his insides quivered and clung to the long, thick cock fucking him so deep. His legs trembled from the strain of his holding them up and he breathed a sigh of relief when skillful hands guided them up to the blond's shoulders. He relaxed fully into the position, rolling his hips in a way that pulled Draco deeper. 

The blond let out a ragged curse and Neville flushed with pride and pleasure. The blond was fucking in earnest now, pressing deep with each thrust as Neville's arse cheeks jumped and rippled from the force. The brunet's toes curled, his cock twitching and spotting his clenched abs with pearls of cum. One of Draco's hands was on his leg, keeping him steady, the next was on his stomach but it soon slipped down to fondle his ball; rolling them in his palm and tugging gently on them.

Neville screamed, his orgasm blindsiding him as his vision went white. Long strips of cum splashed across his chest, hitting him under his chin and along Draco's chest as he bent him almost double to kiss him hard. He cried out into the other man's mouth, tears forming at the edges of his squeezed shut eyes. The waves of pleasure rocking him were almost painful as he rode them out, only partially aware of Draco petting him and whispering soothing words. 

He felt as in on a knife's edge, that disorienting sensation of being suspended above a great fall, not knowing whether death or life would greet you in the end. He felt his legs being guided around the blond's waist and tried to slow his breathing. Draco was still inside him, plugging him deep. He clenched around that hard length and heard the other man moan brokenly. Hands gripped his sides hard enough to bruise and the blond began to move, his hips snapping forward sharply and sending thrills of pleasure and pain up Neville's spine. 

Draco was so fucking deep in him. It felt as if that long cock was in his throat. He swallowed against the feeling but it stubbornly remained as the blond rolled his hips in a way that really should have been illegal in most countries. Neville choked, tremors wracking his body as worn out cock valiantly tried to rally once more. He was going to go insane if this went on for much longer. Surely, he would literally die of pleasure any minute now.

The blond grunted above him, pulsing inside him; heat pooling in the deep place within him. the blond pulled out, leaving Neville to cry out, bereft as he added a few stripes of his own cum across the brunet's chest before sheathing himself in that perfect ass once again. 

They both trembled together, the blond claiming his lips for another deep and dirty kiss. He unclenched his cramped fingers from the bed head and threaded them through Draco's platinum locks, marveling in the soft feel of the pale strands. He let his legs fall to the bed, spread eagled, slick with sweat and cum and heaving breath. His lover lay sprawled across him, a solid and warm weight to keep him from floating away; his half hard length still buried in Neville's well fucked ass. 

"Fuck, that was amazing." he finally sighed, pressing a kiss to Draco's own sweaty forehead.

The blond hummed tiredly. "Thank you."

Neville chuckled. "So modest as usual."

"Hey, When you got it. Flaunt it baby."

Neville's laugh turned into a moan as Draco rolled his hips, pushing his cock deeper before pulling out. He clenched down on his ass, shivering at the feel of cum and slick leaking from the abused muscle. He barely noticed the blond rolling from the bed and coming back moments later with a warm cloth. He cleaned them both up and tossed the cloth back into the bathroom before crawling back into the bed and burying his face in Neville's neck.

Draco squirmed and frowned. "Be a dear and evanesco the wet spot, won't you? I'm fucking knackered, love."

Neville rolled his eyes and then grinned, reaching for his wand. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

“It’s obnoxious” 

Neville was frowning, his eyebrows were doing a mating dance on his forehead.

Draco snorted “It’s a Lamborghini, of course it’s obnoxious.”

“It’s yellow.” Neville said flatly, folding his arms and not moving an inch from the Hotel step. His biceps flexed under the thin white material of his button up shirt and derailed Draco’s line of thought for a second. 

He rallied soon enough though, rolling his eyes and accepting the keys from the valet. 

“They didn’t have one available in gold and the silver one looked like trash.” Draco rolled his eyes and pipped the car alarm, lifting one of the winged doors before turning back to face his lover. “And I didn’t want to go with Gryffindor red or Slytherin green so that only left Hufflepuff yellow.”

Neville curled his lip in a sneer. “What… no Ravenclaw blue?”

“They had one but it was chromatic and was even more obnoxious than this one. You would have loathed it” The blond took his small carry-on bag from the nearby bellhop and hooked it on his elbow. “So you see, in a way, I was thinking of you. Compromise is important to a healthy relationship, Darling.”

Neville’s mouth twitched, as if he was struggling not to grin. It didn’t stop him from giving a loud, put upon sigh and stomping over to the passenger side of the car.

“They’re obnoxious. They guzzle fossil fuel. They have a matchbox for a trunk and have absolutely no leg room for anyone larger than a pixie.” He grunted as he tried to fold his long legs into a comfortable position, his seat already set in the furthest position. “…and on top of that, you drive like a fucking maniac, Dray. You’re are going to speed through the Italian countryside and we are going to crash into an olive vineyard and die a horrible death smothered in a mountain of crushed olives.”

"Don’t be melodramatic" Draco drawled, pulling on his driving gloves and starting the car. The engine all but purred and he gave his lover a wide and wicked grin. "I learned to drive on the streets of Paris darling. Italian drivers are kittens compared. Don't worry. We'll be fine. Trust me."

 Neville's retort was lost as they peeled away from the curb like a bat out of hell. They wind their way through the streets of the city, soon reaching the limits and heading out to the country side beyond. The countryside if beautiful and the car is a convertible so the miles just fall away before them. They make it to the villa after an hour and a half of driving and are greeted by an ancient house elf, Aiuto. 

The estate was grand, a part of the vast holdings of the Prince Family, Draco had never been in person, only knowing about it from Viviana who'd made sure to visit and inspect almost every property inherited by the young blond. She kept all the records in a magically updating leather estate binder which she kept under lock and key in her study. The only people to access it were Draco and herself. She took her role as his magical proxy very seriously and he loved her all the more for it.

There was a second house elf for the Villa, Fioritura, who was a bright and happy thing; flitting from place to place in a pretty little dress made from delicate embroidered cloths. Two more elves worked the gardens and the all greeted Draco respectfully as Lord of the manor. They were happy to meet him at last and he was touched in return, making a promise to himself to visit each and every one of his properties soon. There was a whole world out here waiting for him, so much beyond just Wizarding Britain.

As the happy little house elf prepared lunch for them, he grabbed Neville's hand and pulled him for a stroll through the gardens. They got lost for a while, following a winding path down to a small clear pond. Beyond it was a special garden that they'd had to summon one of the gardening elves to guide them through. 

It was almost overgrown with old and rare plants growing wildly and abundantly and Neville's eyes all but shone with excitement as he ran from plant to plant, calling out their names in both English and Latin. They managed to collect a few cuttings, with the permission of the elves of course. Draco may have been the owner of the estate but these elves had been taking care of it without fail for decades.  
They picnicked at the small pond, slipping off their shoes and socks and sticking their feet into the cool water. Lunch was delicious, meats and cheeses and pastries with a selection of sweets and a chilled bottle of wine from a vineyard owned and operated by Prince Family holdings. 

They spent the afternoon in the shade of a giant tree, talking and kissing as the sun dancing through the leaves and unto the thick blanket the little elf had provided. Amidst the last of the strawberries dipped in chocolate and sweet wine, they slowly undressed each other and made sweet, sweet love. 

The Villa was lit for sunset by the time they walked back and looked stunning in the soft haze of dust. It was then and there that he decided to stay a few more days. Neville agreed readily and Fiori, as he'd ended up calling the little elf, had squealed and clapped before disappearing to ready the master suite. The older elf, Aiuto, had nodded solemnly, his big eyes shining with approval. 

The next few days were like a dream. Exploring the old house's secrets like excitable little kids. Eating wonderful meals out on the palazzo. Draco took to exploring the grand library while Neville and the two estate elves tackled the overgrown secret garden. They visited the vineyards where the wine came from and skinny dipped in the small, clear pond. It was perfect and Draco never wanted it to end.

But, all things must end.

He woke one early morning to find Neville out of the balcony of their room, his shoulders hunched. Worry chilled him as he cupped his lover's face and brought his eyes up to meet his. Those brown eyes were filled with sorrow and shiny with unshed tears. His mouth was pinched and white.

"It was Hermione who attacked you wasn't it?" his voice was soft and devoid of emotion.

Grey eyes widened, Draco's mouth fell open. "I…. what makes you say that?"

Neville closed his eyes and sighed, holding up his phone. There was an article up on the vertex website. An in depth report titled: Fall of a Hero- The Shattering of the Golden Trio Explained. He stood silent as Draco read the story in its entirety- from the day the three first met on the Hogwarts train to the confirmed word that Granger was in a muggle nursing home, being treated as a vegetable, that Weasely had been crippled badly in the dark ritual gone wrong and that Potter had taken a leave of absence from the Aurors indefinitely. 

Wizarding Britian was in an uproar, demanding answers on how their heroes from the war had fallen apart so easily. The aurors had been left floundering and the ICW had been called in to investigate. Most people wanted to know why Granger hadn't been held for the desecration of Dobby's grave and were calling for blood. Too bad the person responsible for her freedom had been Harry himself , who'd convinced the courts not to press charges but no one wanted to come out and say it.

Blaise had called him late one night, giving him the bare bones of the aftermath and he'd put it out of his mind until his return to England. None of it had mattered anymore. He'd been too happy to concern himself with vengeance against some know it all bitch. He'd had Neville and his health and that had been all he'd needed.

He looked at the other man and saw the tenseness in his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw, the furrow in his brow. He knew that he had to be very careful with his next words lest he lose something even more dear.

"Yes." he said simply. And waited.

Neville took a deep breath and shuddered, his voice thick with emotion.

"Did you intend to do that to her? To make her… like my parents?"

Draco felt tears come to his eyes. He shook his head in denial, then spoke aloud "No." 

Those broad shoulders slumped as if all the air had been let out of him. "I… I believe you. you wouldn't do that. Not intentionally. You know that I would never forgive you if you did that."

Draco shook his head again, unable to speak as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Never." he finally managed, hugging himself against the sudden cold.

Neville nodded but still didn't turn to face his lover and it left the blond feeling bereft. "Why didn't you tell me it was her? I could have helped. We could have seen her brought to justice."

"She was an Unspeakable. They never would have let you." The words tumbled out, secrecy be damned. "We would have all been in danger. Anyone who knew her secret was a target. We couldn't touch her. Not through conventional means. Not even the ICW could have done anything. I'm an exile. I'm worth less than nothing to them. They would have disappeared me and all who came looking for me."

Then Neville is in his arms, strong and warm against him and Draco is sobbing and clutching at his sleep shirt. "I never wanted to hurt you. Please believe that much." 

Neville's arms were tight around him, his breath deep and steady behind Draco's ear."I believe you. I had to read the story five times before I realized what had been done. I've known Hermione since first year. Give her a challenge and she'd gnaw at that bone until the owls come home. It's easy to figure out once you know her."

His voice was thick with grief and Draco grieved for him.

Eventually Neville pulled back and looked him in the face. neither of them even tried to wipe the tear tracks from their faces.

"If you had the choice to do it again. Would you?" his brown eyes were clear and searching.

Draco's mouth worked but no words came out. Anything he tried to say kept sticking on his tongue. Finally he closed his eyes and nodded. It was the truth. If he had a choice of running away from Granger and leaving his life behind like a dog with his tail between his legs and destroying her utterly and completely. Well… there was no choice really.

He waited for the arms holding him to fall away, for the warmth he treasured so much to leave him. he didn't dare to clutch at the other man or cling to him in desperation. He stood by his decision come good or bad. This was who he was, he was the son of Lucius and Narcissa. He was a Malfoy. He was a Slytherin and he was a Prince. It was in his blood and his bones. His mind and his heart. 

He was Draco. And he always would be.

Minutes passed and the arms didn't fall away. The warmth didn't disappear. Neville held him a gently as he always did, his heart beating against Draco's as they stood together in dawn's pale light. Slowly, carefully, the blond slid his had up into Neville's wild morning curls and kissed the broad shoulder in front of him. The larger man shuddered just once and pulled Draco even tighter, silent sobs starting to shake his broad frame.

Draco wept silently with him, holding him closer and letting the larger man slumped against him. He lead him to their shared bed, pulling him into his arms until Neville was wrapped around him, his face tucked into Draco's neck. The rest of the quiet day was spent there together, sleeping and nibbling on the food Fiori brought in, a worried look on her small face. 

They spoke softly, kissing at times, crying at times; working through their emotions so that nothing could stay and fester. Draco burst into tears when Neville whispered his forgiveness and they both had to make long distance phone calls to Luna and Blaise in order to pull themselves together. 

Their love making that night was bittersweet and so intense that they both lay trembling like leaves in the wind afterwards. The moon was full and shone like a diamond in the sky. It pale light was beautiful and lit up the world silver. Draco lay on Neville's chest, humming happily as the larger man traced patterns in moonlight across his pale skin.

"I love you" the blond whispered against Neville's heart, his breath catching in his chest as the man below him stilled. They spent a few seconds in utter silence before the brunet let out a deep breath and began playing with the patterns once more.

"I love you too." his voice was gentle and full of love.

Draco started breathing again and relaxed into the arm holding him. Sleep came easily that night. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"How did we accumulate so much crap in just a few weeks." Draco grumped as he packed yet another suitcase. "...and this stuff is just from Italy alone. We sent everything else ahead ages ago. Goddess help me I will have so much to fucking sort through when I get back home." He stood and stretched his aching back with a set upon sigh. "At least I can get Mufty and Blaise to help me. They love sorting out the shopping."

Neville chuckled from where he was clearing the bathroom. "Well, one of us wanted to stop at almost every market and shopping district to pick up 'a little something' for the girls."

Draco pouted. "They'd kill me if I didn't bring anything back for them. You wouldn't want me to be killed before the wedding now would you?"

Neville raised a brow. "Bold of you to assume that there's going to be a wedding?"

Draco scoffed in return. "Bold of you to believe that Viviana Isn't already in negotiations with your grandmother."

The brunet paled and staggered over to sit heavily on the bed. "Oh fuck me."

The blond gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Not now dearest, we'll miss our plane."

He spun on his heel. "Fiori!" he called, smiling as the little elf popped in before him. "Good afternoon dear, please see that these cases are shipped to the address marked on them. And the other things being held for us as well. Thank you my dear. "

"Si, Signore." she curtsied. "Ah. Signore. I have something for you. You asked me to help restore La bambola per te… I have managed to restore the covering and the hair. Auito gave me new lace for her dress. I even harvested fresh wool for the stuffing."

She held the doll up to him, it's little gold ringlets and crystal eyes shining in the bright sunlight. He took the doll carefully, his eyes stinging because it looked just like it did in the photo of little Elfe and her mother. 

"Thank you so much Fiori. This is wonderful. Grazie."

She blushed and curtsied again, her own little dress fluttering around her feet. That is not all, Signore. When I was fixing her, her little scatola del cuore fell out and the clasp broke. It was very old and Auito said that he could make a new one if that was what you wanted. I told him that I would ask you."

Draco frowned. "Her Heart… Box. I don't understand." 

The elf nodded sagely and hopped next to him. she turned the doll over and unfastened the dress, revealing an invisible seam which parted easily under her skilled fingers. Nestled within the new wool stuffing was a small carved box shaped like an oval and lined with burnished gold. She deftly took it out, showing him the broken clasp before opening the little box.

Draco gaped, feeling his knees go weak as he sat heavily on the floor. Neville looked over his shoulder and gasped. "Is that…? Holy shit."

The blond nodded dumbly before reaching into the case with a trembling hand and pulling out the Spartak Valetyne Ruby. The deep red stone glistened in the sunlight from the windows, captivating in its unique size and cut. He'd read so much about it, poured over so many sketches of it and the gems that it could potentially be cut in to. He thought that he knew the stone inside and out.

He was wrong so very wrong. The gem was like a living thing, powerful and magical and utterly beautiful. He hefted it in his hands, testing the weight of it and looked over to Neville for some kind of notion of what to do. Who to feel. Here it was in his hand, what he'd been searching for for most of his life. This is what countless men and women had fought and dies for. This was what Wilhelm Schwetz lost his life for. What little Elfe lost her father, her mother, and her happiness for. 

He swallowed heavily and put the ruby back into its case before handing it to the elf. They watched as she carefully placed the case back into the doll and closed up the seam. 

"I want to you keep this at the villa my dear," Draco finally said. "Take care of it for me until I decide what I want to do with it. Don't worry about the broken clasp. Just leave it as it is. Can you do that for me, Little Flower?" 

"Si Signore Draco. I will take very good care of it." The elf smiled wide before turning to the rest of the cases. "I will see to these now. Ciao. Signore Draco. Signore Neville." then she, and the rest of the packages disappeared.

Draco felt Neville's arm around his shoulder and turned to look at the other man. his brown eyes were concerned. "What are you going to do?" the brunette asked softly.

"I'm still in shock I think." Draco shrugged. "All I can think about is what Wilhelm must have been thinking when he gave the doll to his daughter. If he intended for her to keep it. If he did, why didn't he tell her about it in the first place. Or left some kind of message for her or her mother. A letter even. Something to be delivered if he didn't come back. her life would have been so different if she'd had the ruby. Her mother may have gotten medical treatment, they could have loved happily and comfortable instead of in poverty and fear."  
"That ruby has brought nothing but heartache and loss to everyone who coveted it. "He shook his head. "I'm not going to be one of them. I'll probably donate the thing to a museum in Berlin. All of the original Valentyns are dead now so It would be up to museum to deal with it. I'll probably write a book on the matter. I already have all the notes. Yeah… that sounds good. People should now Elfriede's story. She deserves that much."

He looked up to see Neville smiling at him before he's kissed within an inch of his life.

"I love you so fucking much." the brunet whispered fiercely as he pulled the smaller blond into his lap. "You are such a good man, don't try to deny it. And you surprise me every day. I'll never get bored of being with you."

He kissed him again. "Merlin, I want to fuck you into the mattress so hard by now."

"But we'll miss our flight." Draco sputtered, flushing pink.

Neville grinned wickedly, "Not if I magic off our clothes and bend you over the bed right now we won't."

Draco felt his cock twitch in his pants as his cheeks heated up. He threw his arms around his lover's neck and kissed him silly. "Only if you a do a thorough lube charm and add in a scourgify when where done. Oh… and don't let the clothes get crumpled. I don't want to go to the airport looking like a hobo."

Neville gave him a look before bursting into joyous laughter. "Yes, dear."

Draco scowled, "Don't you "Yes Dear" me you gryffindor humphffsfasfs…."

The rest was lost as he found himself naked and flipped unto the bed, his lover following right after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah... for all those who thought they knew where the stone was... you guys were right. as soon i wrote the scene in the hospital i knew. to everyone who complimented here and at Rough Trade, thank you. you don't know who much they meant to me. 
> 
> don't worry. the next one will have Goblins, the unholy tribunal and the meeting with Gran Longbottom. that's sounds like so much fun. i wish that i could read it without actually having to write it first. LMAO.


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